


How to Become a Witch in Ten Easy Lessons

by Ripplestitchskein



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Magic, Modern AU, Modern Fantasy, Romance, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8110342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripplestitchskein/pseuds/Ripplestitchskein
Summary: Emma Swan leads a quiet, solitary life, that is until a tragedy temporarily saddles her with three recently displaced orphans. Three recently displaced orphans who make quick work of discovering one of the reasons for her solitude and threaten to confirm the rumors swirling around town about her, unless she can do something to help them, something that will require the assistance of a mysterious Professor who isn’t quite what he seems either.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhiraLovesLoki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/gifts).



> A birthday gift for the wonderful @phiralovesloki though I’m having so much fun writing it it’s really a gift to me, which is typical of her I think. I hope your birthday is filled with magic and lots of cake, you deserve tons of both. You are a bright spot in this fandom and I absolutely adore you.  
> Though knowledge of neither is required, loosely based on a dream she had and influenced by the Disney movie Bedknobs and Broomsticks which was the first thing I thought of.  
> And finally my love and thanks to my instrumental wifey @caprelloidea for making this better and generally being the best person in the world.

_______

The little yellow bug puttered to a stop in front of him, the engine dying with one final shudder and a startling, but not wholly unexpected, bang. The poor, unfortunately colored thing had been on its last legs for years now, yet she refused to let it go, a ridiculous vehicle for a very serious woman. The serious woman in question eyed him warily as she got out, one hand resting on the top of the door. 

  


“How are they?” Emma asked, her eyes flicking to the glass doors of the station, as if trying to catch a glimpse that could answer her question before she actually had to face them in person.

“A bit shaken up no doubt, but the good doctor cleared them. No signs of injury. Which is good news,” Graham rocked back on his heels. “Some of the sisters weren’t so lucky. Burnt pretty bad from what I hear.” 

Emma slammed the door of the bug closed with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, equal parts frustrated by the situation and afraid of it. 

“And the home?”

He made a sympathetic clicking noise with his mouth as he reached around her to get the door. 

“A smoking pile of rock by this point.” 

“Damnit,” Emma took a deep breath, stepping over the threshold into the dim lobby beyond. 

She had hoped that there was still some part of it that was salvageable. The fire department had been battling valiantly when she’d been called to another scene, Graham offering to stay behind. It was after hours now, the only light peeking out from the office in the back, the rest of the station shut down for the night. 

“And you’re _positive_ no one else can take them in?” Emma asked desperately, one final plea for good measure. They had been over this hours ago, a stilted discussion across the walkies, but it didn’t hurt to check.

“The state says it could be awhile before they have a placement for them, and you’re the only one left with a space large enough. I don’t think they’d be thrilled riding the floor of my cabin,” Graham said pointedly. 

His cabin, a single roomed affair set well back into the Storybrooke Woods, far from actual civilization, with spotty electricity and the very real threat of _actual_ bears, was definitely out of the question, and as reluctant as she was to do this she wouldn’t subject them to that. 

“The Nolan’s offered but they have the new baby and all, barely a week old, didn’t seem right. Everyone else was full up taking on the others, these are the last three.”

Emma sighed and nodded, resigned, motioning for him to stay behind while she went forward into the fray. 

She had scrimped and saved and put everything she had into buying a house of her very own, deliberately choosing a place that was far too much space for just one person, a place that was _deliberately_ far too much space, for someone who had never had any space of her own. And now her life of excess, of empty bedrooms and unused but stylish place settings, of never having to answer to anyone, was coming to bite her in the ass by being _too empty_ , by being _too spacious_. 

There were three of them, which seemed like quite a lot when it came to children, a ragtag group of mismatched clothing and serious, determined faces staring at her from the plastic-backed chairs of the office. 

She had seen them around town before, at community events and school assemblies, an orderly line of uniformed adolescents trailing after the Sister’s like so many baby ducks. Now they were wearing mismatched sets of pajamas, sockless feet stuffed into too formal loafers and tennis shoes, all they could manage to throw on during the evacuation, and still smelling faintly of smoke. 

Emma took a deep breath and plastered a smile onto her face she hoped was friendly. Motherly. Not scared to death. Assured and confident in the face of a tragedy. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t like kids. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help, she wanted nothing more. The children’s home was the only one of its kind for several towns over, a last refuge for many of the orphaned and abandoned it housed, not only the children but the women of faith who worked there, and now it was gone, these lost boys and girls once again alone and adrift. She knew that feeling all too well, and she wanted, _needed_ , to help in whatever way she could. But taking care of children was scary. Unfamiliar and scary and not something she’d had time to prepare for, so she figured she’d better dive right in.

“You guys know me, right?” She asked pleasantly, nods all around. 

“You’re the Deputy Sheriff,” the oldest one, a boy of about 13, Henry she thought his name was, said matter of factly. His smile was amused, sizing her up as he stood from the chair, hitching a salvaged backpack over his shoulder. He was surprisingly cool, a little keyed up from all the excitement, judging by the slight bounce from foot to foot as he regarded her, but very calm all things considered.

“That’s right, I am, see?” She pushed out her hip, tilting the badge still clipped to her belt so they could see it, more for the benefit of the youngest one than his older counterparts.

“Mother Superior says you’re a witch and we should pray for you,” the littlest boy said, completely without fear, looking up at her with earnest brown eyes and a mop of matching hair. 

Emma’s mouth dropped open in shock, surprised firstly that he would say such a thing right out of the gate, and secondly that Mother Superior, the scowling redhead who coldly greeted her with a nod at the diner every morning without fail, apparently gossiped about her in front of small children. 

“Well that’s not entirely-” she stammered out, trying to find the words to explain, and coming up short. 

“Roland,” the girl, a sweet faced brunette closer to Henry’s age hissed at him, appalled. “You can’t just call people witches!”

“But she _is_ a witch! Mother Superior said so. She said that Old Woman Josie said that you get witch supplies in the mail from your boyfriend overseas and that it’s disgraceful the postman service would let peoples send such things,” the boy, Roland, continued, not deterred in the least by the girl trying to cover his mouth with her hand. 

Emma took a deep breath, already feeling like a failure. 

“I’m not a witch,” she said, looking behind her to see if Graham had overheard. Although it didn’t matter much, if her private affairs were openly discussed in front of kindergartner’s, chances were the Sheriff was already privy to small town scuttlebutt. “Witches aren’t real.” 

“That’s not _entirely_ true,” Henry said, she shot the boy a warning look, which he took well, smiling and closing his eyes knowingly. 

“I’m not a witch. I work with the Sheriff, and you guys are going to stay with me for a few days until we get something more permanent worked out,” she looked at each of them, their exhaustion and apprehension starting to break through their childish exteriors, faces too old and weary for ones so young. “That sounds like fun, right?” 

They shrugged at different times, Roland reaching up to grasp the girl’s hand, squeezing tightly. He looked up at her and Henry consideringly before turning back to Emma. 

“Can we ride in a police car with sirens?” He asked after a moment. 

“Afraid not kid, I’m in my car tonight,” Emma held her keys up awkwardly, wincing at his disappointed face. Unsure of how to improve the situation she sighed and moved to usher them out the door anyway, every movement hesitant, awkward, and well out of her depth. 

______

The night was deceptively easy, the excitement of the fire and evacuation, the medical checkups and the lateness of the hour, draining their energy and sending the children immediately to bed, the two boys in the guest room at the top of the stairs, the girl, Grace, taking the much smaller room Emma affectionately thinks of as The Tower.

The morning, however, was when reality sets in. The children have no clothes, no toothbrushes, nothing except the pajamas on their backs and a few meager things in Henry’s backpack: a notebook, an ancient battered Game Boy, a few school assignments and the like. Even the house comes up short, Emma’s fridge and pantry stocked for the needs of one, very simple woman, not three very different children. 

Graham is understanding of course when she explains her predicament, advising her to take the day, and she does. 

The entire morning is filled not with stale donuts and old reheated coffee at the station but takeout breakfast from Granny’s, a swing by the pharmacy for kid’s shampoo and toothbrushes, deodorant and all the little toiletries one took for granted until these things happened, and finally, stopping at the local department store for new clothing and a few fun personal items for each of them, something nice and normal and without purpose for once. 

Emma can remember how few non-practical items she’d had in her time in the system, so she let them loose with a “Have fun” and a few warnings about not going too crazy. 

It was nice, enjoyable even. She was beginning to think she might just be able to pull this off.

Emma pulled the bug into the space outside the post office, smiling into the rearview mirror at her three, freshly dressed and decently cheerful charges. 

“You guys wait here, alright? I just gotta run in for my mail,” she unbuckled her seatbelt just in time to hear Roland’s sneaky whisper. 

“See! She’s getting her witchy stuff,” he hissed, his voice no quieter than usual. Grace hushed him, looking at Emma nervously. 

“I just have a package,” Emma said defensively holding up the yellow slip her route carrier had left on her door a few days previously. 

“A package of witchy stuff,” Roland whispered. Grace attempted to put her hand over his mouth again, looking apologetically at her. 

Emma glanced nervously from the older girl to Henry as well, who watched her from his seat with that same cool amusement, like he knew all her secrets, like he wouldn’t necessarily tell anyone but he wouldn’t let them go either. 

“I’ll be right back,” Emma muttered, cheeks flaming.

It wasn’t that she was embarrassed or ashamed persay, but finding out potentially the entire town had been talking about her little packages was mortifying, and more than a little scary. People tended _not_ to be understanding about these sorts of things, and her position in the town, the standoffish female deputy who lived in that great big house all alone, who purposely avoided social events and most people, was already suspect to most.

She glared at the clerk behind the counter, affectionately known to one and all as “Happy” due to his cheerful, and rather unnerving demeanor, wondering how much of it was Mother Superior’s inability to keep her mouth closed around her charges, and how much was the postman spreading her private mail related business all around town. 

Picking up on her anger and rearing back slightly from the fierceness of her expression, the man’s smile slipped a bit as he cautiously handed the package over. It was a decently large bundle, familiar, wrapped as they all were in plain brown paper. _“Professor Jones’ Correspondence College of Witchcraft”_ scrawled in flowing elegant script at one corner. Emma’s stomach fluttered with anticipation, excitement making her smile as she imagined all the wonder that might await her under that paper wrapping. Happy’s eyes dart nervously from the package to her own. 

Collecting herself, Emma bid him a stiff goodbye, stalking back to the car where the kids awaited her with curious and eager eyes. 

“So what _did_ you get?” Grace asked softly, trying to peer around her own seat to the passenger side where Emma had set it down. 

Emma shook her head and looked back at the three of them.

“It’s nothing,” she said reassuringly, smiling at them. “Just some… stuff I ordered on Amazon for my house.” 

When she looked at Henry though, his position in the back giving him a clearer view than the other’s, he was staring at the script at the top, eyebrow raised in interest. Roland too seemed skeptical, her smile perhaps not as convincing as she thought. Emma shifted in her seat, and nonchalantly reached over to adjust it, flipping it over so the label was visible no more. 

“So!” she said brightly, changing the the subject as she put the vehicle in gear. “How do you guys feel about pizza for dinner?”

_____

The package seemed to call out to her from its new home in the shed for the remainder of the evening. It was a constant niggling sensation at the back of her head, an anticipatory awareness that made the place between her shoulder blades buzz as she went through the motions of getting her new charges fed, cleaned and tucked in for the night.

She’d put it away immediately upon arriving home, the urge to tear through the paper wrapper overwhelming as she’d made her excuses to the kids and hid it away. But she’d remained calm, leaving it on the workbench, and coming back into the house like it didn’t matter to her in the slightest, not wanting to draw further attention to the situation as she hauled the bags and groceries into the house. 

The kids, it seemed, had forgotten about the whole thing, the promise of pizza and cheesy breadsticks, and free reign of her Netflix account, far outweighing the mystery of what her mail contained. Those things were virtually non-existent at the home, it was old tired DVD’s and pizza on special occasions only.

There were moments throughout the evening, when she looked at them, seemingly content, now clean, with new clothes, full from a meal she had, somewhat, provided, that she felt a profound sense of accomplishment, of self satisfied calm. She was _doing_ this, all by herself, without help, and they seemed pretty happy for three orphans who had lost everything they had yet again. It was a nice feeling, unfamiliar, but nice.

She tucked them in a bit earlier perhaps than she would normally, personally feeling that children’s bedtimes were more a suggestion than a hard rule, but prolonging the wait until they were tired was out of the question. It helped her case that the children’s home adhered to strictly structured schedules, and promptly at nine, after faces were washed and teeth were brushed, she smoothed the blankets around Roland’s tiny form and ruffled his hair affectionately, gave a soft smile to Henry, a cheery good night for Grace, and then she settled in to wait for them to fall asleep. 

Each minute that ticked by in the silent house felt like an eternity, her spine tingling with anticipation, but it was important they were out before she even thought about sneaking out to the shed. 

She made it an hour, creeping back up the stairs to creak open the doors of their individual bedrooms, three sleeping forms dead to the world, cozy and safe under sheets and thick blankets. Her heart swelled with warmth at the sight, and then just as suddenly thundered with excitement as she closed the door, the coast now clear, the package waiting. She held herself back from running down the stairs, just barely, and shoved her feet into her shoes at the bottom, slipping out the backdoor into the yard beyond. 

She tore into it like a kid at Christmas, the accompanying letter with its gorgeous script falling onto the table, the rest of the contents without context: a cloth bag filled with tiny green colored beans, a new book for her collection, “An Alphabetized Inventory of Magical Antiquities Reference Volume 1” she read aloud, frowning down at the ornate cover, “sounds a bit dense,” and a few odds and ends she was sure would be useful. 

Her little shed was already filled with several matching tomes, part of a set if the similarly designed covers were any indication, differing in color but all gilt in gold and bound in soft leather, and a small apothecary’s bag filled with various spell ingredients, some she had used, some she hadn’t. They had exotic sounding names like Dragon’s Liver, Adder’s Tongue, Powdered Unicorn Horn and even more exotic smells, all in glass bottles of varying shades. The stylized bottles were exceptionally done in her opinion, looking like spell ingredients from straight out of a movie, handblown glass bubbled and warped with imperfections, hand written tags with faded lettering, and ancient wooden stoppers to contain the contents inside. 

_“Dear Miss Swan, Please accept our heartiest congratulations on your advancement to the next level of our course materials. Your dedication and perseverance is truly remarkable and you are indeed a credit to your chosen vocation.”_

Emma knew it was silly, but nonetheless, her heart swelled with pride at the words. She was not, generally, what one would call an apt pupil, but it seemed in this she had a natural ability and talent, crazy and hard to believe as it was. She didn’t know if it was just a form letter, one that went to however many students progressed to this level, but it was handwritten and addressed to her, and therefore she cherished the words regardless. 

The rest of the letter was the same as usual, a detailed list of what she was to expect in her package, an ancient piece of parchment, timeworn and crumbling at the edges, and obviously old like the others had been. It was, a “Traveling Spell” this time, and the general encouragements and disclaimers that came with every package: 

_Individual Results May Vary. For Entertainment Purposes Only._

_The Professor Jones Correspondence College of Witchcraft makes no guarantee for the safety or efficacy of the enclosed materials._

The warnings were fairly new, but Emma knew firsthand that the products were effective, she had yet to receive a spell that hadn’t worked for her, simple and silly as they could be, they _worked_ and that was the most surprising thing of all. 

She shifted the handful of beans in her hands, murmuring the instructions to herself twice before she placed the pile of legumes carefully in the center of her workbench and gathered the necessary ingredients.

It was rather like following a recipe; a few drops of this, a sprinkle of that, a liberal dose of this and Emma focused, concentrating her energy towards the small pile of green pods on the counter, murmuring the faded spell on the page, gently circling her hand above them. The beans stirred, moving clockwise, slowly at first then faster, a dim light from the center of each growing brighter and brighter as she chanted, the beans moving quicker and quicker with every word. Emma felt the dull prickle of energy, her fingers humming with electricity. There was a flash, the beans slowly rocking to a stop on the bench, now clear and softly glowing from a strange ethereal light. 

She grinned down at them, pleased. 

“Whoa,” came a voice from behind her.

Emma shrieked, whirling on her intruder, hand automatically flying to her hip where she normally kept her gun, a reflex, finding nothing but empty air.

“Henry!” She sucked in a breath, her heart pounding. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I heard you leave and wanted to see what you were doing-” Henry said absently, still gaping at the glowing pile of what were formerly regular lima beans. Emma tossed her hair, innocently shifting in front of them.

“I’m not doing anything, just checking on some stuff out here,” she leaned back against the table casually. The look Henry leveled her with sent a swift rush of shame coursing through her, equal parts incredulous that she thought she could get away with such a ridiculous tale and hurt that she would insult his intelligence by trying. Emma sighed exasperated.

“Was that-” Henry took a deep breath. “Was that _real_ magic?”

Emma said nothing, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to figure out what she could possibly say. 

“So Mother Superior was right, you _are_ a witch,” Henry regarded her with a new sort of interest, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Emma deflated, defeated, and stepped aside to show him the glowing pile.

“Yes. Well kinda,” she looked at him anxiously. “But you absolutely _cannot_ tell anyone about this Henry. Rumors are one thing but an eyewitness is another.” 

At the word eyewitness Henry’s eyes widened in alarm and he stepped back, hands going up automatically in defense. 

“No!” Emma hastily corrected. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just, you can’t tell anyone.”

Relieved Henry relaxed a bit, arms crossing again. 

“And what’s in it for me?”

“And us!” A tiny voice rang out from behind him. Emma could only groan as Roland slipped into the shed from between his legs, followed shortly by a sheepish Grace stepping up behind him.

“Really? All of you? Are you kidding me?” Emma looked up at the ceiling, cursing Sister Astrid’s stupid Miner’s Day candles and general absentmindedness for getting her into this mess. 

_____

Emma regarded the three children in front of her in what she hoped was an intimidating fashion, she _was_ a member of law enforcement after all, and that was a fairly scary profession for a child. She glared at them, arms crossed, expression stern.

That didn’t seem to be the case for these particular children unfortunately, they regarded her with passive unreadable expressions across the kitchen table, a lifetime of well practiced fibs and stony faced bluffs under their belts. Only little Roland betrayed his excitement, practically falling out of his seat. 

Emma tried a different tactic. Begging. 

“Please you guys, you don’t understand. I have a career here, a position in this town and no one will take me seriously if they find out I’m a..-a-”

“Witch?” Henry supplied helpfully. Roland let out another involuntary squeal of delight at the word. 

“Yeah. That. Look, it can be our secret, right?” She smiled at them winningly. 

“What’s in it for us?” Henry repeated his earlier question. “We should get something. For our silence. And for keeping Roland quiet.”

He looked over at the five year old who was practically vibrating on the chair next to him, and who didn’t seem to mind in the least he was being discussed, still wide eyed and over the moon at confirmation that she could, in fact, do magic like he’d suspected.

“What do you want?” Emma asked cautiously. “Money? Toys? A new iPod?”

Grace and Henry exchanged a look. 

“We’ll need a moment,” Henry said after a pause. “To confer.”

Emma looked at him disbelieving, the urge to put a stop to this ridiculousness by extreme means growing stronger, but she instead took a deep breath and stepped out of earshot into the adjacent living room.

The two older kids murmured to each other for a few moments, Roland doing his best to insert himself between them, but it was several minutes before they broke apart with decisive nods. 

They turned to Emma. 

“So what’s it gonna be?” Emma asked, leaning back, hands in her back pockets. “Name your price.”

“A spell,” Henry said solemnly. “Or a magical object that _we_ pick.”

Emma opened her mouth to protest.

“Nothing dangerous,” Grace said quickly. “You’d have final approval.” 

“I can’t do that much,” Emma warned. “I’m still learning. And the spells I’ve done are pretty… silly. Turning things into small animals, spying on people with mirrors…” At Henry’s raised eyebrow she quickly backtracked. “Nothing private!” 

“Let us look through your stuff and we’ll tell you what we want,” Henry reasoned.

After a few tense moments of silence Emma sighed and gave a resigned nod. It sent the three children hurtling from the house back out into the night to her shed with whoops of excitement and pounding feet. She sent up a silent prayer that she was doing the right thing, that this wouldn’t tremendously bite her in the ass. She wasn’t all that optimistic they’d be answered.

____

It was awhile before Henry and Grace came to a decision, soundly shooting down Roland’s requests for the animal transfiguration spell, a spell to animate objects so they would move on their own, and unlimited ice cream in lieu of the promised magic. They were methodical in their search, obviously looking for something specific, perusing the books and papers in Emma’s modest collection well into the night.

Emma was just about to call it, a recommendation for them to keep up the search in the morning on the tip of her tongue when Henry slid her newest book in front of her, his finger pointing to a specific line. 

“The Sands of Avalon,” Emma read outloud. “Enchanted sand from the mystical Isle of Avalon. One pinch of this is reported to have the ability to “fix” anything. “

“That’s what we want,” Henry said firmly. 

“What? Why?” Emma looked up at them bewildered.

“So we can rebuild the children’s home,” Henry said solemnly. 

Emma felt her heart lurch in her chest, pain and understanding closing her throat, eyes burning immediately with the promise of tears.

“Ah kid, I dunno. I don’t even know if this stuff exists,” she looked helplessly down at the page, which had no additional information, just a reference to another book entirely. “Or if it even works like that.”

“You promised whatever we wanted,” Henry said. “And that’s what we want. It wasn’t much but it was our home. Grace and I are too old to find a new one and we don’t want to get sent away.”

Emma sucked in a shaky breath, a wave of long forgotten feelings, of loneliness and despair, a lifetime of being too old, of being unwanted, of moving from city to city washing over her at the tiny, heartfelt confession.

“You said I had final approval,” she reminded them, her heart cracking a further at the sinking expressions on their faces. Emma sighed, closed her eyes, and breathed in deep. “Alright, I’ll try.” 

Three shouts of jubilation filled the tiny open kitchen, and three sets of arms went around her in elated triumph. Emma laughed, her arm grasping them back in some approximation of a hug as she tried to calm them. 

“Guys, guys,” she said, half laughing over their cheers. “I said try _._ I don’t even know where to _begin_ to look for this stuff or what to do if we find it.”

Henry and Grace stepped back, disentangling themselves, Roland opting to hang out, his arms still wrapped firmly around her leg. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll help you.” 

______

Emma felt the responsible thing to do with her new found in loco parentis status was order the children back to bed, for real this time, with promises to begin their quest in the morning. Being new to the job, however, meant she was also ill prepared for three little faces staring at her bright eyed and eager before the sun had even crested the horizon, startling her awake.

“We know where to start the search for the Sands,” Henry said to one blearily opened eye. 

“Good. Then that’s one step out of the way, and we can sleep in a bit,” she murmured, pulling the blankets over her head. 

“We need an early start,” Grace said. “There’s a time difference.”

“What?” Emma peeked out of the blanket. “What are you talking about?”

“We think whoever Professor Jones is, he has the other book. This is just a reference,” Henry held up the Alphabetized Inventory book. “All the books seem to be from the same set. A unique set. There’s no publisher, no ISBN, they’re sewn by hand.” 

“Then we can just wait for him to send the other one in the next delivery,” Emma said groggily. 

“And how long do you think will that take?” Henry snarked. Emma opened her eyes fully now at his tone. “Months. And who knows if he’ll even send the one we need?” 

“So you want to what? Have me go to London to ask this Professor for a book?” Emma yawned and sat up, more sleep obviously off the docket for the day. “Sorry to break it to you kid but I don’t have that kind of cash, international flights are expensive. Maybe we can find a number for him, give him a call and have it expressed?” 

“He doesn’t exist. We can’t find any trace of him,” Henry argued. “There’s no return address on the package, no contact information. We checked every book and paper you have.” Emma blinked at them in surprise, they had obviously been busy while she slept. 

“I’m sure I can find him kid, finding people is what I do,” Emma said reassuringly. 

“We tried.” His voice was a bit more desperate, growing more agitated with every word. “There’s no Professor Jones’ Correspondence College of Witchcraft online, no trace of him at all. Even if you did take a plane to London you wouldn’t know where to look.” 

“Then how are you suggesting we find this mysterious Professor?” Emma asked half joking, “I’m afraid he hasn’t sent me a “Locator Spell” yet, maybe on purpose if he’s trying so hard to stay off the grid.”

“We can use the beans,” Grace said quickly. “That’s what they’re for. They take you where you’re thinking of. We read all about them,” she too had come prepared, holding up rolled up the parchment instructions of the Traveling Spell.

“I’m sorry, _we’ll_?” Emma shook her head, swinging her legs to the side of the bed. She reached out, plucking the scroll from the girl’s hands, shoving it into her night table drawer with a firm snap. 

The three children stepped back to give her room, faces set with frustrated determination, except for Roland who merely looked sleepily curious. "No way I’m testing out _magic beans_ with a bunch of children. There’s this thing called child endangerment? People take it pretty seriously.”

“Then we’ll go without you,” Henry said defiantly after a moment. Emma scoffed, brushing past him into the bathroom. 

“You guys been saving up or something? You got plane tickets in that backpack of yours, I’m unaware of?” She rolled her eyes to his reflection in the mirror, picking up her toothbrush. 

“No. But I do have these,” there was a rattle as Henry let the cloth bag of beans drop and dangle from his hand, swiped from the shed. Emma whirled, toothbrush clattering into the sink. 

“What are you doing? Give. Me. Those,” she grabbed for him but Henry was faster, and stepped back quickly to avoid her. “Henry come on, they could be dangerous, I don’t even know if they’ll work for someone else, hand them over.”

“No. We’re keeping them,” he replied rather petulantly, dodging another swipe. He shoved them into his pockets, scrambling away. “We’ll give them back when you help us get the sand.” 

Grace looked between them, nervous and unsure, and even Roland looked a little uneasy, taking the girl's hand in his own for reassurance as they watched the stand off. 

“Henry. This isn’t funny, you don’t know what those things could do,” Emma pleaded. “Just give them here.” She held out her hand, opening and closing it in a silent request. Her stomach twisted with apprehension. 

She could tell he wasn’t fibbing, that he was dead set on this course, and the idea of a child so determined, holding something so potentially dangerous was a terrifying one. She cursed her stupidity, her naivete. This was _exactly_ why she hadn’t wanted to take this responsibility on. She wasn’t able to handle it, obviously. 

“I know what they do. They can get us to Professor Jones, and then they can take us to the where the sand is when we figure it out,” Henry’s voice was rising in pitch. “If you won’t come with us we’ll do it ourselves, that’s a lot more dangerous, don’t you think?” 

Emma let out a little noise of frustration. 

“I can just take them you know, I am a trained law enforcement officer,” Emma glared at the boy, her patience wearing thinner and thinner. 

“And then we’ll tell the town your secret,” Henry said. Emma opened her mouth to tell him that she didn’t care anymore, that her reputation wasn’t worth potentially endangering the lives of three children, but he beat her to it. “And we’ll also tell them that you used _us_ in your spells.” 

Emma gaped. Was the little brat _blackmailing_ her? She looked to Grace, who gave her a weak, apologetic smile, but stepped over towards Henry, pulling Roland along with her, an obviously pre-planned, and united front. 

Emma let out the breath she had been holding, once again defeated, unsure of what the right course of action was. She was quite sure that no parent had ever had to deal with a situation quite like this one and she was no parent. 

“And they’ll believe you,” she murmured tonelessly. 

There were already rumors, apparently. Who knew how many people had been told of her deliveries, how many people had whispered rumors about Ingrid, slow to trust the outsiders in their quiet seaside town, the foster kid and her odd mother who created delicious ice cream as if by magic, but never made any real connection to the people. Emma, at least, got along well with most everyone, had become a fixture in the community even, but she hadn’t necessarily made that many _friends,_ not enough to escape the condemnation of an entire town if three orphans accused her of something they already partially suspected. What was once a slightly eccentric hobby she’d kept up in memory and hoped those who suspected considered a weird eccentricity, was now something very threatening indeed. 

Henry gave a slight nod, his fierce determination faltering a bit as he took in her face, but he seemed to rally, squaring his shoulders. 

“Why don’t you give me a bean to go and one to get back and I can get the book for you?” Emma tried again. 

“We need to make sure you go through with it. It’s nothing personal,” he said, voice a bit softer now. “It’s just really important to us, and adults lie.” 

Emma stared him down, the mixture of emotions, helpless anger, sympathetic understanding, and even a smidge of respect was a bit overwhelming this early in the day as she took in the pathetic group in front of her. She sucked in a breath, scrubbing a hand across her face. 

“Fine. You’re not giving me much of a choice,” there were no whoops and hollers this time, just nods. “But you follow _my_ rules do you understand me?” She said sternly. They all three nodded again. “If anything happens to you guys it’s on me. It’s my responsibility.” Again, nods. 

Emma let out another frustrated little noise and turned back to the bathroom. 

“I’m going to regret this, I just know it.” 

______

Emma looked down at the bean in her palm, the only one Henry had agreed to give her control over, the rest hidden away on his person, where, she had no idea. It had taken them another two hours to prepare, and now, breakfast eaten, a small bag of items packed, they all stared at the tiny object in her palm, bracing themselves for whatever would happen. 

She had tried every tactic in her arsenal to get them to relent, to convince them there was an easier way, but only Roland seemed swayed, sticking close by her, offering her bites of his cereal in an attempt to placate her and soften the blow of being manipulated by his pre-teen cohorts. It was cute, but no less grating. 

“I’m positive we can find a better way guys,” Emma looked at the assembled group in the shed, one last ditch attempt to make them see reason. Henry shook his head at her, frowning and motioned towards her hand. 

“Let’s go,” he said. He reached a hand out, taking Grace’s firmly in one, Roland’s in another. Roland reached up to take Emma’s free hand, grinning up at her with barely contained excitement. 

Emma dropped the bean. 

At first nothing happened, the three of them staring down at it on the floor, but before Emma could feel any relief that it was a dud, the bean split, a green circle forming at its center, growing and swirling, larger and larger before their eyes, the shed trembling with the force of it. She heard Grace gasp, and Henry’s startled “Whoa”. Roland gave her hand a squeeze, whether in fear or excitement she couldn’t be sure. Emma sucked in a deep breath, momentarily closing her eyes as the portal opening up crept closer and closer, an unseen force drawing them towards it. 

It was now or never.

“Take us to Professor Jones of the Correspondence College of Witchcraft,” Emma shouted, hoping that was enough, all of them agreeing before hand to focus their thoughts on that destination, and with a nod to the others she leapt, into the swirling green. 

It was exactly like free falling and nothing like free falling at the exact same time. Her stomach swooped when she encountered nothing solid for several moments, but the pressure buffeted her, cushioning her with air as they swirled and screamed through a green and purple vortex.

“Hold on!” She yelled, feeling Roland’s hand starting to slip from her grasp. They were moving too fast to see him, the pressure to much to turn her head to look at them.

And just as quickly as it began the pressure eased, and she was falling again, her eyes squeezing shut at the sudden burst of light, and then she was landing, with an oof onto something very solid, very warm, and very much alive. 

“Bloody. Hell.” Emma looked up, her hair fanned out across black leather, palms braced against what she quickly realized was a firm, muscled chest. 

The owner of the chest propped himself up, scooping his body slightly to look down its length at her. 

Emma sucked in a breath at the brilliant blue staring back, at the confused, incredulous, yet incredibly arresting face of an actual human being. Whom she was currently lying on. 

She took a moment to gape, her hand flexing against him, barely registering his awed expression before she remembered herself and rolled off. She could just make out the murmur of a crowd over the buzzing in her ears, the sounds of a bustling city behind her. The air she breathed in to gather herself even smelled different, less small town Maine more big city, smoke and dust, and cooking foods. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said and went to her knees, pushing herself up. And then she remembered the kids. 

  
“Roland? Henry? Grace!” She whirled around, the man forgotten, and sagged with relief when she saw them, getting up from their own prone positions just feet away on the cobblestone sidewalk. Roland waved at her excitedly from the pile. 

“Emma! We did it!” he yelled. 

“Are you okay?” She practically dived over to them, helping them to their feet, and looked each one over for any signs of injury. Henry and Grace shook their heads, their heads turning to regard their new surroundings with open mouthed amazement. 

“ _I’m_ fine, thanks for asking love,” the man groaned from behind her in a voice that was decidedly not from Storybrooke, Maine. She turned flustered, and watched as he levered himself into a standing position. And then it was her turn to gape at him in awe. 

He was leanly muscled, thick dark hair a jumbled riotous mess, handsome, and wearing the most ridiculous outfit she had ever seen in real life outside of a Renaissance Festival, completely at odds with the modernity of the surroundings. He dusted off his billowing leather coat, which hit him just above the ankles, matching leather pants tucked into high black boots, a red velvet brocade vest and black billowing shirt completing the ensemble. And chest. So much chest. Her palm itched and she swept it through her hair for want of something else to do. 

“We found a pirate!” Roland cried before Emma could respond. The man startled looking down at him. 

“I uh-” he said, seeming to founder nervously for a moment, as if the boy had found him out. “Magician, actually.” He cleared his throat. “Allow me to demonstrate.” 

The man reached out with a heavily ringed hand, and swept it behind Roland’s ear, just barely brushing his curls, and emerged with a shiny golden coin. Roland grinned up at him. The man pulled the coin back with a smirk, the flash of white teeth on dark beard making Emma’s heart stutter as he danced it along his knuckles. He flicked the piece up into the air, and caught it, presenting it to the kindergartner with a flourish. 

Roland took it eagerly. 

“It’s pirate treasure!” he yelled at Emma excitedly. She smiled at him weakly, still a little shaky, and also, embarrassed . “Emma can do magic too!” Realizing his mistake Roland’s eyes went wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth, dropping the coin. “Sorry!” The man looked at her with interest, his eyes raking her from the tips of her boots to the top of her head. 

“We’re so sorry,” Emma said hurriedly, flushing at his expression. She reached down to pick up the forgotten coin, pressing it into Roland’s tiny hand. “We weren’t looking where we were going and I didn’t see you there.” She lied, taking the opportunity to take in their surroundings. 

Her first impression was that is was crowded, and loud. A bustling marketplace with stall after stall of items stretching down the lane further than she could see. There was the blue sign for something called Portobello Crepes, and another for a Good Fairy Market on the brick wall just before it, marking the edge of a gated entrance right next to them.

There were tons of people meandering about, none of them paying their little group the slightest bit of attention, as if people fell from the sky every day in… wherever they were. 

“Actually, maybe you could help us?” the man quirked an eyebrow at her question, his mouth drifting into another smirk this one more suggestive than friendly. “We’re looking for something. Professor Jones’ Correspondence College of Witchcraft? Is there a school around here somewhere, or a storefront? Or have you heard of it?” Emma watched as the smirk faded from his face, his eyes immediately wary. 

“Can’t say I’ve seen a building for a Correspondence College of….Witchcraft was it?,” he chuckled. “Only magic around here is me own, lass”. Emma frowned at him, a sharp twinge at the base of her skull telling her that while he wasn’t exactly lying, it wasn’t the full truth either.

“Have you heard of a Professor Jones? Does he live around here?” she tried again. The man pursed his lips. 

“Common enough name, I’ve heard of several Professor Joneses. Indiana for instance,” he tilted his head and winked at her. “I’m assuming you’ve heard of him.”

Emma frowned harder. 

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged. “Sorry again for uh, landing, er, _running_ into you. Come on kids! Let’s see what we can find.” The man bowed low, peering up at her from beneath both his brow and his incredibly long eyelashes. Emma swallowed, still suspicious, but definitely intrigued. “Sorry again, uh-” she motioned at him.” 

“Killian. At your service,” he gave a smaller bow this time. “And you’re Emma I gather.”

“Yeah, Emma Swan,” she shoved her hand out. He blinked, startled for a moment, but recovered quickly. He took it in his own, brushing his lips across the top, the barest brush of skin in skin. Emma shivered, her fingers clenching around his involuntarily. 

“Well…Swan, try not to run into any other dashing rakes while you’re in town, I’d hate to lose the honor.” 

Henry cleared his throat before Emma could respond, positive she was a brilliant shade of cherry red. It snapped her back to reality, to their mission, and the fact that they had just taken a magic bean across an entire ocean to what appeared to be London, England if the ridiculous number of Underground logos plastered to everything was any indication.

She gave the absurdly dressed man one last apologetic smile before reaching out for Roland’s hand. Unsure of where they were exactly, and how they could find their quarry. They walked a bit down the street, closer to the crowd. 

“I think we’re at Portobello Road,” Henry whispered excitedly, as if reading her mind, pointing to a few different businesses that did in fact boast the name, including the crepery she had noticed earlier. 

“Okay, well,” Emma sighed, looking at the overwhelming amount of people and storefronts. “This is going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack.” 

“Maybe not,” Grace whispered, tugging at her shirt. “Emma, look.” Emma followed her gaze back to the man, Killian, who was hastily gathering up his belongs, throwing items from a small fold up table quickly into a large brown leather satchel. Emma looked at the girl confused. 

“Look at his bag,” Grace hissed. Emma looked again, JONES stamped boldly into the leather on the side. 

“Sonuvabitch,” Emma cursed. Roland squeezed her hand. “Sorry.” She muttered and then through clenched teeth. “Stay here. Don’t move.” 

“Hey, KIllian!” she called out gruffly. He glanced at her. 

“Just packing up love, no more shows for me today, I have a bus to catch, you understand,” he flashed her an insincere apologetic smile and resumed packing up his things. 

“Killian…Jones?” He looked up at her wide-eyed and caught. “As in, _Professor Jones?”_ Emma glared at him, too annoyed to even enjoy the look that entered his eyes at the intimidating picture she presented. 

“Well done Emma _Swan_ , you’ve found me out, and so quickly too,” he smiled at her charmingly, opening his eyes wide in deference to the accomplishment. It was the first time she noticed his hand, or rather the lack of it, in its place a shining silver hook prosthesis. She was frankly surprised she hadn’t seen it earlier. She blamed the chest. 

“I have a few questions for you,” she said, ignoring that line of thought. “About…magic.” 

Emma felt stupid even saying it aloud, even knowing that it existed, even having the ability to stand here in front of him _because_ of it didn’t negate the fact that it was strange to talk about in public, with another, seemingly sane, individual, his choice in attire notwithstanding.. 

“I gathered as much,” Killian sighed dramatically. “Well, darling.” He sauntered towards her, shuffling into her space, eyes cast down, hips swaying. Some of Emma’s ire faltered at the expression on his face, a dark edged flirtation she hadn’t been on the receiving end of in far too long. It was entirely too appealing for the situation, and the level of anger she currently felt. She straightened her back, trying to appear unaffected.

“Since I am after all, a Professor, “ he said the word slowly, with some amusement, too close now, fully leaning into her space, his breath warm against her skin, hot in her ear. “Allow me to impart on you the very foundation of all magical instruction.” 

“And what’s that?” Emma breathed out, leaning back to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Misdirection.”

Before she could even react there was a cloud of smoke, acrid and thick, and instant, colored a brilliant scarlet red and filling their small area of the street too quickly for her to move. She reached out, blindly trying to grab him, but he was far too fast and her hand met nothing but air.

Emma coughed, waving the smoke away. 

“Kids don’t move,” she cried, the smoke filling her vision, disorienting and more than a bit scary. Thankfully it started to clear as quickly as it has appeared. 

“We got him!” she heard Roland yell. “We got the magic pirate!” 

“What? How?” Emma waved the smoke away, stepping towards their voices and into a clearer area of the street. 

The fake professor and pirate themed street magician was looking up at her in disgruntled annoyance, both Grace and Henry sitting on his stomach, Roland clutching tightly onto his right leg as if his life depended on it. It was ridiculous picture indeed and several of the passing market goers laughed at the sight, looking at them curiously, obviously thinking it was part of some show, a theatrical street performance. Emma wished. 

She swallowed, the last of the smoke drifting away, and nervously glanced at the hook, unsure if he would use it as a weapon. She knew that a man his size, and build would have no trouble throwing two extremely slight children off and he seemed extra formidable if the solid mass she had felt under her was any indication. It was probably more the kids had tripped him than that they had physically taken him down, and he could, realistically, escape at any time, yet he lay there, allowing them to pin him. It was comforting that even if he was a liar, and extremely shady to boot, he was at least unwilling to accidentally harm a child. That said something for his character at least, even if the rest she knew left a lot to be desired. It had the effect of making her feel slightly better though, so that was something. 

She reached over towards her bag, forgotten on the pavement in the fracas, and thankfully still there despite all the commotion. 

“Well, Professor Jones,” she slowly knelt next to him, smiling charmingly down at the annoyed tilt of his eyebrows, at his completely put out expression that his grand escape was foiled so spectacularly, and lifted his arm. “Since you’re _such_ a good magician and all.” 

She leaned in close, breath hot in his ear, an eye for an eye and all that, and before he could react she snapped one metal bracelet over his wrist, and closed the other quickly over her own. 

“Let’s see if you can escape these handcuffs.”

_______

Emma realized immediately that this was definitely not going to work. Her rash decision had not been, perhaps, properly thought out. She blamed the early morning blackmail, travel by magic portal, and the ridiculous magician she was currently attached to.

Now she found herself with arms at awkward, unnatural angles, chained to a man who could probably physically overpower her, though not without a fight, in the middle of a crowded market. She sighed, and motioned for the kids to move off his torso. They scrambled off, but to their credit glared down at their captive like the excellent backup they were. 

“Well,” Killian said, rising to his feet with some difficulty, owing to the lack of one hand and the new impediment on the other, though he was now at least free of children. Emma rose with him, trying hard not to accidentally brush…anything. 

“Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me on what crime it is I’ve committed, Swan?”

Emma faltered. She wasn’t even sure what the law was here in London, but in America what she’d just done constituted unlawful imprisonment. She had no warrant for his arrest, no jurisdiction here, and he hadn’t actually _done_ anything wrong other than lying and attempting to flee when he’d learned they were looking for him. And generally being a smarmy ass. It stood to reason that there was a cause for the flight attempt - only the guilty ran after all - but without knowing what it was that he was running _from_ Emma had no way to justify her actions legally. It was an impulsive and reckless decision made in the heat of the moment, not one she could back up with logic. 

“Or was this merely an attempt to get close to me?” he slowly licked his lips, leaning even closer than their chained together position already allowed, voice a low rasp. “I assure you all you had to do was ask darling.”

Emma ignored the traitorous curl of interest in her stomach at his tone, a little annoyed with herself for even reacting, sighed, and reluctantly reached into her pocket to get the keys. Henry opened his mouth to protest, the chance to get the book they needed potentially fading before his very eyes, but she silenced him with stern glance.  
  
Killian too was the picture of incredulous shock at how easily she’d given in, surprised perhaps at the knowledge she didn’t _actually_ have a reason for detaining him. Who he thought she was, why he assumed there was one, she didn’t know.

“Why’d you run?” she asked gruffly, jerking his hand over to her. 

“I have a very strict “no refunds” policy,” he said playfully, looking down at their hands with a smile, “And would you believe I tend to like things to remain non-confrontational?” 

“No. I wouldn’t,” Emma replied, looking him dead in the eyes. They twinkled at her.

“Smart lass,” he said with a wink, or a close approximation of one, flexing his hand once the cuff was fully off. 

“So are you going to answer me?” Emma asked. “What confrontation were you worried about exactly?” 

“I thought you may be one of my more… disgruntled customers,” he admitted. From what she could tell it was honest, no trace of a lie in voice or expression. He leaned back to assess her, resting his hand on his belt.

“Disgruntled?” Emma asked. 

“Not everyone reads the fine print I’m afraid,” he looked at her curiously, again, seeming surprised about her reactions to his answers. 

“When things don’t work as advertised they get a bit heated,” he said quickly. “Look, love, as enjoyable as your company is turning out to be, what with the concussion and the bondage and all, do you mind catching me up on your particular grievance?” He looked around at the people passing them by on the street. “We seem to be attracting quite a lot of attention.” 

“You’re dressed like a pirate,” Emma pointed out. 

“And he’s dressed like some bloke called “Charlie Chaplin-”, he motioned to an impersonator further down the lane. “-being accosted by a mother and her three young children is more out of the ordinary around these parts than choice of attire."

“Well. The sooner you answer my questions the sooner you can be on your way,” Emma said with a fake threatening cheerfulness she usually reserved for difficult perps and belligerent drunks. “What do you mean “don’t work as advertised”.” 

“Well I assumed that’s why you sought me out,” he was frowning at her now. “To get your money back.”

“No,” Emma said shook her head. “Everything you’ve ever sent me has worked. That’s why we’re here actually, we need the next lesson ahead of schedule.” 

Killian blinked at her in surprise, straightening slightly. An odd sort of look came over his face, a different sort of interest entirely, one she couldn’t quite place. 

“What do you mean everything I’ve sent you has “worked”,” he replied slowly after a moment. He cocked his head, expression unreadable, but his eyes were intensely focused. “Worked how?” 

“What do _you_ mean “ worked how”?” Emma countered, growing annoyed. “They worked like the instructions said they would! That’s _how_.” 

Killian stopped, blinked at her, and then burst out laughing, waving his finger in her general direction. Emma looked at him bewildered, exchanging a look with the kids who were equally as baffled. She should have assumed the man dressed like a swashbuckler who sent magic through the mail was insane. It figured he’d be attractive, and dashing too, that seemed par for the course for her.

“You are having me on,” he looked around, apparently trying to find an accomplice, or maybe a hidden camera, Emma wasn’t sure. “Did someone put you up to this? A competitor perhaps?” He glared down the street, at the impersonator “That Charlie fellow with his absurd little mustache _has_ been eyeing my corner come to think of it.” 

“No one put me up to this, I’m serious,” Emma insisted. “That’s how we got here. Or do women fall from the sky a lot “around these parts”.” She mimicked in a poor attempt at his accent. 

“I could only be so lucky,” he said absently, his mirth fading as he took in the seriousness of her expression. “How did you say you got here again?” 

“The beans,” Emma said exasperated, her patience running thin. “The ones _you_ sent me genius. The one’s I _paid_ you for. We told one to take us to you, it did, and here we are, and here you are.” Emma motioned first to the kids and then to him, well and truly fed up.

“Lass, I got those beans from Sainsbury’s,” Killian said levely. “I ate half of them and tossed the rest into a bag.” 

“You ate magic beans?” Roland gasped dramatically. “Did they hurt your stomach?”

“They weren’t magic when I ate them,” Killian said exasperated. 

“Well they’re magic now,” Emma snapped. 

She wasn’t sure how to feel at the moment. She was definitely furious, the idea that she had been duped, tricked, that her foster mother had been swindled by nothing more than a two bit con man in a flashy coat, that all the letters of praise and encouragement she had treasured, had felt proud of, had just been a way to get her to keep sending him checks every month made her want to punch him in the face. 

So she did. 

If they had been moderately attracting attention before, they were definitely attracting attention now, a low murmuring buzz moving over those gathered closest to them. 

“I’m positive I deserved that,” Killian cracked his neck, rubbing the bridge of his nose, a small bead of blood emerging on his upper lip. “Very curious as to the why though.” 

“You lied to me. You tricked me!” Emma growled.

“By your own admission lass, I did no such thing,” Killian pointed out, calm but agitated, glaring right back at her as he reached into some unknown pocket of his very large coat and emerged with a black handkerchief. “You just admitted that all my spells worked for you.” 

“Which you apparently didn’t expect to happen!” Emma didn’t really care that she was yelling, to enraged, to care, wanting nothing more than to punch him again

“Of course I didn’t expect them to bloody work, this realm doesn’t _have_ magic!” He snapped back. “If it did I’d have found a way back by now.”

Emma went to yell at him again but his expression brought her up short, that of a man who had said far too much, revealed more than he'd intended. She mentally reviewed. 

“This _realm_?” she said, softer this time. 

“A turn of phrase,” Killian said shortly, guardedly. He was still eyeing her with some trepidation, pressing the hankie to his nose and assessing her with a calculated gaze.

“Back where?” Emma challenged. 

“Nowhere,” he bit out and abruptly changed the subject. “If what you claim is true, what could you possibly want from me?”

“We need a book, a reference book, that can tell us where to find something called the Sands of Avalon,” Henry broke in before Emma could respond.

“Never heard of it. How do I know _you’re_ telling the truth?” Killian asked, addressing the question to Emma, still wearing a face she could only describe as cautiously optimistic. And also slightly pained as he checked that his nose had ceased bleeding. Emma felt only slightly guilty about that, what was a little assault on top of false imprisonment after all? And he had deserved it.

“Take us to the book and I’ll prove it to you,” she tilted her head up to look him square in the eyes, more a dare than a compromise. 

He was ridiculously easy to read she was finding, even as he stood there regarding her with feigned disinterest, hand back on his belt, looking down his recently bloodied nose like he was doing her a courtesy just by listening. He apparently felt the same about her if his guarded but curious stance was any indication. He didn’t make a move to leave, he didn’t look at her as if she was insane, which he by all accounts should have if he hadn’t intended any of his packages to work, yet he was waiting for her to confirm something for him, something he desperately _needed._ She could just tell, it was something she could recognize, something she could empathize with, even if she couldn’t fully understand it yet.

There was another beat, two, a long period of just staring with the kids looking uneasily between them. Emma could barely breathe until he spoke.

“Alright then love, let’s see what we can find.” 

  
______


	2. Chapter 2

______

  
  


It was strangely easy to make their way through the city, despite their utter lack of preparation for such an outcome, and the rather odd company they kept. 

 

No one spared Killian’s costume, or her wide-eyed and amazed charges, more than a passing glance as he led them through the bustling marketplace. The patrons here were either used to his presence there or accustomed  to strange sights in general she wasn’t sure which. A pirate navigating through the city streets, past stalls of floral ceramic teapots, cheap tacky t-shirts, and table upon table of brilliantly shining costume jewelery, wasn't a sight Emma was likely to forget however. The man seemed to be naturally at ease with the situation which was odd in and of itself, as if women claiming to possess magic and their overly aggressive child companions were a regular occurrence in his life. He assisted them when necessary, taking their lack of money or Oyster card in stride. He waved away pushy vendors, and easily steered their rather cumbersome group through the crowd with a quick determination that still left room for the occasional fascinated perusal. 

 

He was still radiating tension though, an odd sort of anticipatory excitement that made him slightly jumpy at each place they stopped, licking his lips periodically and darting glances at her while the kids explored the various eclectic offerings of the marketplace. They were glances of decided interest, of curiosity, glances that heated her face and made her heart flutter, glances like she was they key to something he had been hoping for, something he had been waiting for. 

 

It was rather disconcerting. 

 

The kids, at least, were having a ball, the sights of a new city, the novelty of being absolutely free, of roaming on their own without the watchful eye of the Sisters, of hearing voices so different from the ones they usually heard, and seeing so many wondrous shops and offerings left them bubbly and happy with excitement. It made Emma smile too, a warm glow settling into her heart with every necklace Grace admired, and every sterling silver platter Roland made silly faces in. She was still uneasy, however, the sense of foreboding and the anxiety that came with the strange and unfamiliar only growing when she thought of next steps, of potential outcomes, but she had at least them a gift of sorts. That was no small thing in the wake of such a devastation. That she might be able to do something more permanent, that she might be able to help in a more significant way, solidified her resolve a bit further, and kept the doubts and fears at bay. 

  
  


A cab from the taxi rank, and one exorbitant fare later had Emma staring up at the starburst sign of a location on the Thames- “Plantation Wharf”. 

 

It appeared, as she looked down the docks, to be mostly commercial vessels, river tours and shipping barges, and a few squat and stunted houseboats bobbing in the dark waters. The feeling of unease intensified, and she reached out with one arm to halt the children’s progress. 

 

“Where are you taking us? I thought we were going to a house or like, a storage facility or something,” she frowned. “Not a place to dump our bodies in a river.” 

 

Roland gasped.  

 

“I didn’t mean-” Emma quickly corrected, cursing herself. “I wasn’t serious. He’s not going to kill us.” She looked up at Killian, eyes hard. “Right?” 

 

He just pursed his lips and tilted his head with a tiny shrug and a small smile, amused but in no way helpful, and turned to jog down the metal stairs towards the pier. 

 

“I’m taking you to my ship,” he said over his shoulder. “Which also happens to be my home.” 

 

“That’s so cool!” Henry said excitedly. “You actually live there? All the time?” Killian nodded, the smile turning to pride, motioning for them to follow..

 

“You really take this whole pirate thing seriously don’t you?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him, but allowed the children go forward, keeping one hand firmly on Roland’s head lest he decide to jump in the river in his excitement.

 

“You have no idea,” she heard him mutter as he turned down the quay. 

 

“Oh wow,” Grace breathed when they rounded the corner. Emma had to agree. 

 

The ship itself was definitely fit for a pirate, completely unlike those in the neighboring berths, a ship out of time. The supposed owner of it leaned back, hand on his belt, looking up at her, his face beaming. 

 

“Behold, The Jolly Roger,” he swept his arm out dramatically.

 

“You live here?” Emma asked incredulous. “Seriously?”

 

“Aye,” he somehow grinned even wider, and motioned again for them to follow.

 

It was quite the impressive vessel, an old world wooden ship amongst the metal hulled barges, with real towering masts and sails, complex designs of lines and rigging weaved in the sky above them, an actual wooden wheel at the helm, and a figurehead jutting proudly out over the water. Killian reached back to help each child in turn off the metal ramp onto the deck below, smiling at their obvious enthusiasm, and looking a bit giddy as well. He grasped her hand last, soft and firm, and she was reminded of the lingering brush of lips, his fingertips gently wrapped around her own. Their eyes locked for a moment, lips parting, and she jerked her hand away, rubbing it idly on her jeans. 

 

“This is so cool,” Henry repeated, all three of the kids scattering in different directions along the deck. 

 

“There’s a cannon!” Roland cried. “Can we shoot it? Please? Just once!” 

 

“Ah,” Killian swayed, looking uneasily back and forth between him and Emma. “I don’t think your mother would like that lad. Nor would the Metropolitan Police I suspect.” 

 

“I’m not their mother,” Emma muttered, Killian looked at her curiously, eyes narrowing with interest, but the children distracted him once more. 

 

“But it works?” Henry surveyed the weapon, going over to the identical one on the other side. “They look like they work.” 

 

“Aye,” Killian rubbed the back of his head, more nervous now for some reason. She wasn’t sure if it was the children, the heavy artillery, or something else. “They’re real enough, lad.”

 

“Is it a replica?” She asked interestedly, running her hands down the smooth yellow wood of the rail. “Like for historical tours?” 

 

“Eh, not as such,” Killian didn’t look at her again, and instead walked across the deck, lifting a large wooden hatch. “I keep everything below and in my quarters, if I have the book you seek, it will be there.”

 

The idea of following a weirdo who dressed like a pirate down into the dark hatch of his ridiculously pretty, but completely out of place, old timey ship was not an appealing one. She should have brought her gun she realized, but traveling via magic portal with three children hadn’t seemed like a concealed carry situation so she’d left it behind. A decision she regretted now.

 

Emma hesitated. As if sensing her distress, even from halfway across the ship, Killian opened his arms wide, gaze locking with her own, eyes still startlingly blue even from this distance. 

 

“A little trust?” he said. “You do remember that ‘twas you who sought  _ me  _ out, right? If anyone is in danger here, it’s me.” 

 

Emma gave a look, which he returned with playful feigned innocence, slinking across the deck towards her. Emma crossed her arms over her chest as he approached, rolling her eyes at his theatrics.  

 

“For all I know you could be some kind of con woman. A beautiful blonde and the three adorable children she’s recruited?” He smirked down at his feet as he walked, stopping just at the edge of her personal bubble. “Feeding me some elaborate fantastical tale, impossible to believe, of magic and portals and enchanted beans, practically  _ begging  _ me for my help.”

 

“I did not beg,” Emma deadpanned, swallowing as he leaned a little further into her space. “We made a deal. You take us to the book, I prove I have magic.” 

 

“I do believe we’ll need to do that the other way around, sweetheart,” Killian said softly. He was so close now she could see the faint rim of yellow in the blue of his eyes . “Not much incentive for you to hold up  _ your _ end if I just hand it over after all. But to your point… shall we?” 

  
  


_____

 

The vessel was neat and tidy, a solitary bachelor pad inside the bowels of a beautiful historical ship. It was a spartan existence, a simple hot plate, a small fridge, no television or other modern amenities she could see, and other than a few plug in lamps and a space heater there was no indication that this ship had even come from this century, everything else exactly like it would have been hundreds of years ago. 

 

“Did pirates live here?” Roland whispered, his little hands trailing along the rough wood hewn benches in the galley as they moved their way through the ship, touching everything he could reach at least once.

 

“Aye lad,” Killian said softly. “In many ways they still do.” 

 

“Is that a joke?” Grace asked, her voice edged slightly with nervousness as she looked around at the dustless relics of an age gone by. The cleanliness only enhanced the sense that the crew had simply walked away from their posts for awhile, that they might return any moment. 

 

Killian merely shrugged, and lead them further through the dimly lit ship.

 

The “Captain’s Quarters”  were much brighter, or at least more lived in, and far less spooky than the rest of the empty craft, filled with books and other odds and ends, smelling faintly of his cologne, but still existing somehow outside of time, none of the concessions to  modern existence present here.

 

He motioned towards the table, inviting them all to take a seat. 

 

“Now, lass,” he said sitting himself, legs splayed wide. “I believe you owe me a demonstration.” His eyebrows jumped playfully at the suggestion and Emma let out a huff. 

 

“Alright fine. I’ll hold up my end of the deal,” she sighed. “But I’m warning you, I’m not very good.” 

 

Killian just looked at her with a pleasant skepticism, still radiating that odd sort of tension, waving his hand at her to continue. The kids looked on eagerly, tiny faces in little cupped hands. 

  
  


Emma took in a deep steadying breath, closing her eyes and thought back to the words she needed, murmuring them softly to herself.

 

She honed her energy, feeling the rising pulse of it within her, focusing her concentration. It was her most practiced spell, one of the first she had ever received, and the one she knew the best. There was a pop, a fizzle and a sharp crack of electricity rent the air. The kids shrieked at the loud noise, Roland leaping up from his seat.  

 

Emma opened her eyes, immediately looking to the wall, and laughed, delighted that it actually worked. She smirked with a satisfied smugness. Killian however looked around for a moment bewildered, confused about the reason for such an expression..

 

She motioned with her head towards a peg behind him on the wall, the straps of water skins and odd horns dangling from it, and among them, a new addition: his shining steel hook. 

 

The look of shock on his face was almost worth the slight annoyance a second later.

He lurched up from his chair over to the wall, examining it for a moment, and turned a glare to each of the kids in turn. 

 

“Bad form tampering with a man’s hook,” he snapped. “I think you’ll find I’m not an easy target for your ruse,” he pointed to Roland. “It’s that one is it? Maybe with the help of the girl?” He pondered the three children for a second more, taking the hook off the wall and locking it back into place. He turned the glare to Emma. “Quite the show you’re putting on for me, lass. Though I’m having trouble determining a reason as to  _ why _ .”

 

“It’s not a show,” Emma snapped. “We just want the book. Like we said.”

 

Killian was silent for a few beats, considering her. 

  
  


“Then another demonstration perhaps, something a bit more convincing?” He still looked slightly angry, disappointed even. 

 

“I showed you what you wanted,” Emma replied, indignant. “I’m not a trained monkey.” 

 

“Indulge me,” he bit out and licked his lips. 

 

Emma huffed, annoyed and stood from her seat. 

 

“Fine. You want magic? I”ll show you magic.”  

 

The kid’s eyes widened as they looked between the adults, the tension between the two practically simmering in the room. Emma could certainly understand their interest. The adults in their lives were all professionals, nuns and school officials, rarely, if ever, had they seen two grown people argue in such a way outside of scripted television. That is was over the performance of magic on a old timey ship with a man dressed like a pirate made it all the more bizarre.

 

Killian simply smiled, a sarcastic, insincere pull of lips under narrowed suspicious eyes, and waved his hand like before.

 

It was irresponsible to say the least, something she had never attempted, at least not on an _actual_ _human_ and she could admit the decision to do so was fueled mostly by his disbelief, the need to prove herself, and more than a bit by the stinging reminder of just how little he’d expected his packages to work all this time. She closed her eyes again, the words coming just as easily this time, it was not a spell she had used overmuch, but still they were there immediately, no hesitation. 

 

She held out a hand, swallowed, and murmured them quietly aloud. 

  
  


There was the crackle of energy again, that electric fizz that radiated from her hair to her toes, another sharp crack and then the delighted shrieks of the children telling her it worked.  She hesitantly opened one eye, a slow grin moving across her face as she opened the other. 

 

Where previously there had been a skeptical magician in way too much leather, there was now a small, chittering black and white monkey in a small red vest, his tail curling around the base of the chair. He trilled at her angrily, and Emma couldn’t help the loud bark of laughter that escaped to join the children’s. He looked absolutely ridiculous. He also looked incredibly pissed.

  
  


“How’s that for a demonstration?” She laughed. The monkey glared at her, one tiny monkey hand waving agitatedly in the air.  

 

“He’s a monkey!” Roland shrieked, only Henry’s arm around his waist holding him back from scooping the creature into his arms. 

 

“Oh my gosh  he’s so cute,” Grace cried as the animal darted underneath the chair and back out again. He made another noise of chittering agitation in the girl’s direction at the description, leveling her with a monkey glare.

 

“It wears off,” Emma reassured, a small thread of anxiety niggling at the possibility that this time it  _ wouldn’t _ , she hadn’t actually attempted it like this before, but even then she couldn’t help to smile at the picture of ridiculousness he presented. The kids were beside themselves with glee, almost crying with delight.

  
  


“I’m not very good at it and I’ve never done something this….big and most things wear off in a few  minutes anyway.” 

 

Sure enough Killian was already transforming, growing larger before their eyes, the leather of his coat emerging, trailing the floor as he knelt next to the table, his face returning to normal, handsome, angular, though slightly more enraged now. 

 

“Never. Do. That. Again.” He huffed as soon as everything was set to rights, jerking himself into a standing position.

 

He tossed back his shoulders in annoyance, adjusted his coat, and tried vainly to restore some dignity to the situation. 

 

Emma bit her lip to hide her smile, softening a bit at his disgruntled expression, it was more than a bit endearing, even if he had kind of deserved it. 

 

“Do you believe me now?” She asked, laughter in her voice, allowing him another moment to collect himself.

 

“Oh aye,” he snapped, eyebrows lifting sarcastically. He stomped over to the door, obviously still a bit put out. “And it’s done wonders for my motivation, love, I now find I simply cannot wait to find that book to get you lot  _ off  _ my ship. Shall we proceed?”  

 

Emma gave him a sheepish look, feeling slightly bad now, but he  _ had  _ asked for something bigger. She shrugged slightly, and motioned for the children to follow, going after him back out into the ship proper. 

  
  


He led them through the gentle rocking ship back through the galley, glaring occasionally at Emma over his shoulder as he brought them with jerking steps to the inner bowels of the vessel. 

 

Despite the annoyance practically radiating off him in waves she could tell that something had changed. Curiosity had given way to intrigue, a wary sort of interest every time he looked back to check on them. A hint of excitement in the raise of his brow and the shine of his eyes. It was very curious, but given his mood it probably wouldn’t be very useful to ask any probing questions as to its cause.

 

“After you,” Killian gave a small bow, breaking into her thoughts and motioning to an open hatch in the floor, and the narrow steps that led down further into the ship. 

 

“What  _ is  _ all this?” Emma gasped  in wonder when she reached the bottom. The kids clattered down after her, followed by the lazy meandering steps of the owner.

 

The entire hold was absolutely covered from bow to stern, port to starboard, every inch of conceivable space littered with things: stacks and stacks of leather and cloth bound books, wooden chest after wooden chest of items, bottles and glasses, some still humming with a quiet energy. It was all fairly neatly arranged, an obvious system of organization at play, but the sheer volume of items was overwhelming, the smell of smoke and spice filling her lungs, ancient dust filling her nose. Killian leaned against the wall, that understated pride from when they had first set eyes on the ship back on his face. 

  
  


“My acquisitions,” he said. “If I have the book you need it will be here. There are a few more in my quarters but this is a good place as any to start.” 

 

“Kids, don’t...touch anything,” Emma said uneasily, lifting the lid of a wooden trunk, the inside cushioned with cloth and filled with flasks and bottles of various ingredients that matched the ones in her own apothecary’s bag at home. There was a lot of breakable in here, a lot of unknown, and the competing energies she could feel thrumming against her spine were more than a bit unsettling.

 

“The book has to be here,” Henry said, ignoring her, already leaning down to peer at the spines. “These match the others.” 

 

Sure enough there were several sets present, all the same general style, the gold embossing, the same kind of text, some with differently colored leather covers but all a match for the growing selection she had in her shed.

 

“Aye, they are a set, one of a kind,” Killian offered, pushing himself off the door. “It’s a private collection.”

 

“ _ Your _ private collection?” Emma asked, eyebrow raised. He just looked at her levelly.

 

“Not as such, no,” he replied after a moment. “Do what you like with it, but do your best not to destroy my home, wouldn’t want you to turn it into a mushroom or something equally as wretched, eh Swan?”  Before she could protest, or ask him to stay, he had disappeared up the steps, coat trailing behind him, his boots on the wood echoing fainter and fainter as he made his way back across the ship. Emma blew out a breath and looked at her three charges. 

 

“Books only. Do you understand?” Each one received the same stern, no nonsense look, the one for Roland a bit longer and more intense as he drew back an exploratory hand. “You don’t touch anything in the chests or any of other stuff in here. Just the books.”

 

“What do you think it’s all for?” Henry asked, his hand hovering just inches above a golden lamp. 

 

“No idea,” Emma murmured. She lifted another chest. “Why would a magician who doesn’t believe in magic have an entire ship filled with magical things?” She frowned at the contents. “It doesn’t make any sense.” 

 

“Do you think there are more spells in here for you to do?” Roland asked. “Like stuff you couldn't do before?”

 

“Oh I’m sure. But it’s probably best if I don’t do anymore magic right now,” Emma leaned down, nudging the boy’s chin up. “I don’t think Mr. Jones would appreciate it.” 

 

“Yeah probably not, he looked  _ super  _ mad. He did make a pretty good monkey though,” Roland said thoughtfully, climbing onto a bench at the back of the hold. “I kinda wish he wouldn’ta changed back. I always wanted a monkey.” 

 

_____

  
  


Emma made her way through the groaning and creaking ship a few hours later, back to the captain’s quarters, one hand steady on the hull. Most of the books had been catalogued and dismissed, none of them the one they sought, a ship full of dead ends. She could see the children’s growing disappointment, as they continued the search, combing through the last few stacks. It was disheartening, to say the least, seeing the light leaving their eyes as each book turned up another dead end. That it might be with the captain and questionable owner was the last hope they had. So she’d left them to finish the search, placing Henry in charge of making sure nothing got broken and nothing was touched, hoping the added responsibility would keep  _ him _ in line as well, and made her way back through the ship to the man who might be the last hope they had.

 

The room was dimmer now, the afternoon sun slipping away, but he was thankfully still there, sitting in the same chair as before. A tall bottle of dark liquid on the table in front of him, one well worn metal cup, a match for the one he currently sipped from, and an open book there as well. He gave her a  smile full of fake cheer as she came in, and took another sip, motioning to the chair across.

 

“Was wondering when you’d turn up,” he said, putting the cup down on the table. “Have a drink with me.” In one smooth motion he had deftly twisted the top off the bottle with his one hand, already pouring her one and topping off his own before she could even accept the offer.

 

Emma sat down warily, taking the offered cup and bringing it to her mouth for a hesitant sip. It was rum, strong but smooth.

 

“No luck then?” he asked casually. Emma shook her head. 

 

“Not so far. We must have looked through a thousand books down there. You wanna tell me where you got all that stuff?” Emma asked, adopting the same casual indifference. 

 

“Not particularly.” He said with the same fake cheer. 

 

His face was unreadable as he took another sip. 

 

“Seems kind of strange to have a ship filled with magical stuff when you don’t believe in magic.” Emma probed again. He still said nothing, tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip, the only indication he had even heard her. Emma decided to try another tactic, a silent glaring stare, merely looking at him as she sipped at her drink, hardened eyes roving across his face. Her expectant expression, the one that coerced so many of Storybrooke’s criminal element into giving up the goods had seemingly no effect though, no nervous fidgeting or twitching for this guy, he just stared back, one eyebrow tipped up in amusement. It only served to make her wonder more, only made the need to know stronger.

It wasn’t even the mask he wore that she found appealing really, that easy boyish flirtation and charm, but the fact he had to wear one at all. She burned to see what lay beneath it, to discover the reasons for it. He was a complete mystery, this oddly dressed man, who claimed to be something he obviously wasn’t, who lived on such an oddity, a ship out of time, and who surrounded himself with things he didn’t even see the value of, didn’t expect to work. Emma had never been able to give up a mystery or accept a lie. She hated the idea of a question unanswered. It might be why she found herself here at all, allowing herself to be cowed by three feisty children, coming willingly onto a pirate ship following a man wearing eyeliner and a dangerous grin, she wanted, needed, to see what happened next.

 

“Come on,” Emma said, her good cop voice on now. “I showed you mine.” Okay, good cop with a side of heavy flirtation. Killian snorted at her.

  
  


“Never said I didn’t believe in magic, lass,” he said with a sigh after another moment of silence. “I said this realm didn’t  _ have magic _ .” 

 

“Yeah, I remember,” Emma cocked her head. “And what does that mean exactly?” 

 

“That it was my  _ belief _ ,” KIllian said sardonically, “that magic was impossible in this world. An assumption you have quite thoroughly corrected, Swan. By rather undesirable means, mind you.”

 

“Yeah, Sorry about that,” Emma looked away to hide her smile, knowing she didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. She heard him suck his teeth slightly in annoyance, but he didn’t respond further, just took another sip. “So what, there are other realms out there? One’s that do have...magic? Is that where all this stuff came from?”

 

“Why  _ did  _ you send away for my course anyway, love? I find myself curious. I can’t say you seem like the kind of person who would believe in this kind of thing either,” Killian leaned back in his chair. 

 

“We weren’t talking about me,” Emma replied, her smile all teeth. “You were answering my questions.” 

 

“Was I? You’ll find I’m a big believer in parity love. Tit for tat,” he clucked his tongue, looking her up and down with that heated gaze that made her flush despite herself. This wasn’t generally how her interrogations went. She shifted in her seat. 

 

“You answer my questions and I’ll answer yours,” he downed the rest of his cup in one swift gulp, taking up the bottle again immediately.  He repoured, and tilted it towards her in question. “How about it darling?”

 

Emma sighed, and with a nod held out her cup for him to refill. It took her a few moments before she could speak though. It took time to gather her words, watching the brown liquid swirling around at the bottom of her cup. He didn’t prompt her again, just patiently waited for her to begin.  

 

“My foster mother, Ingrid. She was always into it, the idea of it...magic, witchcraft. She had a pretty decent collection of things, Books A Million stuff, nothing serious, tarot card games and books about crystals, smelly candles, you know.” Emma took another sip. “She came here, to London, on vacation a few years back, told me she’d signed up for your course. Said she could tell you were the “real deal”.”

 

“Yes but how did  _ you  _ discover I was “the real deal”,” Killian smirked, that tongue out again, tucking his bottom lip underneath. 

  
  


Emma swallowed, images of Ingrid, her beautiful foster mother flickering through her mind, the pang of fond memories now soiled by loss closing up her throat. She took in a shuddering breath, eyes still trained on the table. Sensing her distress, or perhaps reading her expression Killian coughed, the flirtatious grin  dropping from his face in an instant.

 

“Apologies love, ” he said softly, “I didn’t know. Just forget I asked.” 

 

It was the completely sincere blend of remorse and shame on his face, replacing his wary mask, the odd feeling that he would understand, that had Emma continuing, ignoring the sharp pain in her chest. Talking about her mother was always hard, her passing still fresh, the grief still raw. She hadn’t really spoken to anyone about Ingrid since her funeral. But a stranger seemed safer somehow, especially this stranger whose eyes shone with empathy and a grim first hand knowledge of his own.

 

“No, it’s okay,” Emma shook her head to clear it. “She left it all to me when she died. Cancer. It was really fast,” Emma shrugged uncomfortably. “A few months later I got an invoice from the third party billing service for missed payments for your course. I thought maybe it would help, make me feel closer to her somehow?” Emma took in another deep breath, blinking back the burn of tears. “So I had it all changed to my name, started receiving the stuff myself. And on a whim I gave it a shot. I figured it couldn’t hurt, no one was around but me right? So I tried the first lesson and... it worked. Just like she said,  “the real deal”.” Emma gave a shaky tearful laugh. “She would have been so happy to see it. Real magic.” 

 

Killian emptied his glass in one long pull, the silence stretching out between them for what felt like an eternity. Uncomfortable and tense. 

 

“This world is not my own,” he blurted out finally. Emma looked up at him. She had suspected, had figured, as much, but hearing him say it aloud, hearing no lie in his voice at the admission, was something else entirely. It made such a preposterous idea more real. 

 

“Where I’m from, my realm, is  _ quite  _ different. This ship and her cargo are all I have left from it.” 

 

“Where are you from? How did you get here?” Emma asked, reeling a bit from that bit of 

Information, all thoughts of Ingrid pushed aside in favor of a million questions. Her eyes still stung from fresh grief and unshed tears but she was grateful for the distraction his mystery presented her. Killian hesitated, the tip of his finger circling the rim of the his empty cup. 

 

“I’m not sure what you would call it. I’ve not seen mention of it anywhere, and believe me, I’ve looked,” he said bitterly. “As far as this world is concerned it doesn’t exist. That is the true reason for my suspicion regarding your intentions love. I thought perhaps one of my less than scrupulous associates had done some digging into my inquiries and sent you along as a way to trick me. I wasn’t exactly discreet when I first arrived I confess. Lucky I didn’t get shuffled off to an asylum.” He snorted self deprecatingly.

 

“How did you get here?” Emma tried her second question. 

 

“Same as you love, magic beans. Well one magic bean,” the chuckle he let out was dark, bitter. “As with most magic, one must be extremely bloody specific, lest you find yourself in a much different place than you expected.”

 

“So in your world, realm, whatever, you have magic? It’s real? Like real real. Like everyone knows it’s real.” Emma frowned. “That’s why you have a whole boat full of magical...stuff?” 

 

Killian hesitated again, using the moment to pour himself another drink. He took a smaller sip this time, perhaps realizing he was entering that realm of too much too quickly, and paused. There was a beat, two, and finally he shrugged to himself, apparently deciding in that moment to go all in.

 

“Where I come from all magic comes with a price,” his smile was sarcastic. “That price just happens to be massive amounts of gold doubloons. I acquired quite a lot of it. Let’s say...unlawfully.”  

 

“So you really are a pirate,” Emma said eyes widening. 

 

“Aye,” Killian nodded. “Of a very specific sort.” 

 

“So then why come here, to a world without it?” Emma asked confused. “Magic can’t be more valuable here if it’s not even supposed to work.”

 

“Wasn’t my choice, now was it,” he snapped agitated. 

 

“I don’t know, was it?” Emma challenged and watched as he looked away, his eyes trained on the ceiling, tongue pressed to the top of his teeth. 

 

“I suppose, in a way, it  _ was _ ,” Killian laughed bitterly to himself and shook his head again. At Emma’s questioning look he continued with a resigned sigh. “I was being pursued, the winds were failing me, so I used my final remaining bean as a last chance of escape.” 

 

“And ended up here.” Emma said.

 

“Aye. And I ended up here”

 

“Why here though? Why not somewhere else in your own... “realm” or whatever?” Emma wrinkled her nose in confusion as to what the correct term would be. This was new territory after all. 

 

He snorted, tilting his cup at her briefly before downing it again, licking his lips to catch every last drop before he pressed on.

 

“My pursuer was a sorcerer, powerful fellow, a bloody demon might be a more apt description,” he smirked and shook his head at the memory. “He wanted all the magic I possessed. All the magic any one possessed. He was power hungry, quite mad too.”

 

He didn't pour himself another drink, just circled the rim of his cup with one ringed finger, amused for some reason.

 

“The thing about magic beans is, they take you where you’re thinking of. Unfortunately for me, they can also be  _ quite _ literal.”

 

“Where did you ask it to take you?” Emma asked, already kind of guessing the answer.

 

“I asked it to take me somewhere he wouldn’t dare follow,” Killian spread his arms out wide. “And here we are. A realm without magic. A place The Dark One would never, ever go.”

 

“And what about your family? Your friends? Aren’t they looking for you? Wondering where you went?” 

 

The expression on his face was one that hit Emma with such a startling familiarity her chest physically ached, her heart thudding dully, breath catching. An expression she had seen in the mirror one two many times. 

 

“No worries there, love,” he said softly. When he next spoke his voice was much louder in the quiet room, that forced cheerfulness she was starting to recognize the real reason for. 

 

“Now darling, what brings you to my room?” He licked his lips again, this time with a different intent entirely. Emma blinked, the change in demeanor so abrupt it was as if the past few minutes had never happened at all.

 

“You said there were more books,” Emma sighed, a bit sad at his deflection, but recognising a lost cause, when she saw one. “I came here to go through them since we’re kind of hitting a dead end down there.”

 

“Aye, there are,” he lifted up the cover of the one in front of him, letting it hit the table with a sharp thwack. “But there’s no need, I have what you want right here. I believe.”

 

“What?” Emma sat up straighter, almost dropping her cup. “And you just let us search down there for what, hours, when you had it the whole time?”  She leaned forward to snatch the book with her free hand.

 

“Relax Swan,” Killian picked up the cover again, pulling it just out of range, and turned the book so she could see the spine. “I didn’t find it until just moments before you came in. Had to verify it for myself. And what I found is very interesting indeed.” 

 

There was something in his tone that made Emma hesitate, the beginnings of disappointment sour in her gut. He was scheming, plotting, a con man running a con, she could hear it in the slow drag of his voice across each deliberately uttered syllable. 

 

“Oh?” Emma said cautiously. 

 

“Indeed,” Killian cleared his throat, propping the book on the table. He held it with one hand by the spine as he paraphrased,  “Apparently the Isle of Avalon was lost some time ago, sent to the watery depths by a powerful wizard when it’s powers were abused,” he made a disapproving noise, skimming over the words. “Used to hold dominion other living creatures, to be precise, a violation of the highest order.” 

 

He looked up, his jaw clenching for a moment, disgust evident in his voice. “Exceptionally bad form, that.” 

 

Emma said nothing, just watched him warily, unsure of where he was going with this. He took the hint, cleared his throat once more, and turned back to the book, continuing with his reading.  “The isle was lost to the depths, protected from interference by a powerful creature on the edge of a place called The Broken Kingdom, a desolate land laid barren, its inhabitants punished by the wizard’s wrath hundreds of years ago, no hope of them ever using them again.” 

 

“Okay, so we just tell the… magic bean-” Emma shook her head, the words still sounding weird,    
“-to take us to this Broken Kingdom place and we can figure out a way to scoop some of the sand from the bottom,”  Emma shrugged. 

“The sands are in the middle of a body of water,” Killian snapped the book closed tossing it onto the table again with a thump. “Outside of a kingdom that has no ships by design, protected by a powerful sea monster. And I just so happen to have a ship, and weapons to fight such a beast.”

 

Emma’s heart dropped, there it was, his end game. 

 

“I assume you want something in exchange for using them,” Emma said dully. “That’s your angle?”

 

“Quite. I offer you my ship and my services-” he paused and Emma held her breath, “-and in exchange you provide me with a magic bean so I may return to my land. I help you get what you want, and you help me do the same,” the smile on his face was forced, one eyebrow raised in question. “Tit for tat. Do we have a deal, Swan?” 

 

Emma sighed and stood from her chair. She had to go tell the children, let them know that the book was in hand, the answer was found, their search was over. She looked down at the table sadly for a moment, and then back up, her eyes drifting over his face, over the mask firmly in place once again, the same faux cheerfulness that had colored so much of their interaction widening his eyes in question. 

 

“We would have just given you one you know,” she said softly. The fake smile dropped, and he frowned at her, setting his jaw. 

 

“A bean.” She clarified, even though she knew that there was no confusion. “We would have just given you one, if you’d asked.” 

 

Emma didn’t wait for him respond, she simply set her cup on the table, and left the room. 

 

_____

  
  


“Now you guys stay below deck until I come to get you no matter what,” Emma said sternly to her three charges, adjusting the strap on Roland’s brilliant orange life vest. It was slightly oversized, his little head peeking out over the top, just cheeks and unruly curls. The shop near the marina had a limited selection. Henry and Grace were preparing themselves similarly, buckling themselves into their own personal flotation devices with more than a bit of pre-teen disdain.  

 

“Will it be scary?” Roland asked fearfully. 

 

“No my boy,” Killian assured him, eyeing the contraption with his own distaste, poking at it with the back of his hook. “But it’s bumpy seas ahead and we’ve no idea what we’re in for, your mo- Emma is just exercising caution.” 

 

Emma frowned at the trio again, her misgivings twisting her stomach into anxious knots, but Henry was still firm. 

 

When they had initially explained their next steps, the danger involved, he’d sternly reminded her that her continued cooperation was the safest option for all of them. There was more than a hint of threat that he would simply use the beans himself to take them directly to the Sands, which after learning that they were deep underwater wasn’t exactly advisable, and no amount of threats or cajoling swayed him. It still rankled that a child had such power, but Emma knew better than anyone that it sometimes took unsavory tactics to ensure continued survival, she couldn’t help but admire the boy for that.

 

She just had to make sure they were as cautious as possible.

 

“Okay, where’s the bean?” Emma asked, shaking the feelings away. It was now or never. 

Henry reached into his pocket, pulling out one solitary bean. Killian eyed it with interest, perhaps comparing it to the ones he had seen in the past, but made no move to forcibly take it, he had more honor than that it seemed.

 

It wasn’t long later, back on deck, the children secured below, the ship safely navigated out of the harbor into the main waters of the huge river, that Emma looked over to him at the helm, one arm wrapped around a line of rope per his instructions. The full impact of what they were doing hit her suddenly just then, twisted her gut further. The world was an orange apricot color from the sinking sun, an unfamiliar city bathed in twilight. A strange man at the helm of a strange ship, wind in his hair, blowing back his leather coat, a real life pirate captain on a real life pirate ship, getting ready to take her and her three adolescent charges to a new world entirely. It was a bit overwhelming. 

 

“You ready?” she called back, unsure of the answer for herself. Killian nodded grimly, grabbing firmly onto the wheel. 

 

“Aye. When you are lass.” 

 

Emma took in a deep steadying breath, braced herself and threw.

  
  


The waterway was thankfully fairly empty in their area, the early evening sending most boaters back to port, and she hoped that observers on the shore would be scarce as well. She didn’t have an alternate solution, a more discreet way to handle this part of it, but considering this was the last time this beautiful ship would grace these waters she supposed it didn’t matter much. It would be an unexplained mystery, a ship disappearing into the river, never to be recovered, those on board unknown and never found. She turned her attention back to the churning water.

 

She could see the edges of the growing portal just beyond the bow, green and whirling, slightly terrifying in its enormity, the thundering roar of rushing water growing louder, blocking out all other sounds. The ship seemed to steer itself towards the swirling whirlpool, the pull of newly released energy drawing in the massive vessel . Emma wrapped her arm around the line again, dug her heels into the deck, fixed her mind firmly on their destination, and held her breath. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For phiralovesloki will all my love. Thanks to my instrumental wifey Liz for the read through and generally being awesome and scapeartist and kat2609 for their cheerleading and support.

_____

  
  


She hadn’t noticed that her eyes were squeezed shut until the sound of Killian’s voice asking her if she was alright had them snapping open.

 

They were back in water again, bobbing lazily along, no longer free falling through space, the rushing roaring wind gone, the air now filled with the cawing sound of gulls, and the gentle lap of water against the hull. 

 

They had done it , had arrived safely in another world, again. This time on a pirate ship. Emma swallowed, and let out the shaky breath she’d been holding for what felt like an eternity, taking in their new surroundings. 

  
  


The stretch of land in the distance, laid out before them wasn’t nearly as barren as the book described, not even close really. She’d been expecting nothing but sand and rocks, a desert at the edge of the ocean. 

 

This island, however, was just as lush and green as any other, with dense tropical plants and brilliantly colored flowers so bright and vibrant she could make them out even meters away across the expanse of the jewel toned lagoon. Further out in the distance rose a great round tower and the crumbling stone remains of the keep it was once attached to. Still, the island paradise looked off somehow, something out of place and odd. It was another moment before she figured it out: it was the utter lack of trees that made it seem bizarre in scale, no palms or live oaks rose up around the ruins, the stone structure the tallest landmark on the vast island by far, huge and ominous with the lack of perspective. 

 

“Is that it?” she called back to him. 

  
  


“Aye must be,” Killian stepped up next to her. “The Broken Kingdom. I imagine you want to skip introductions with the locals?”

 

“Maybe they can shed some light on this “creature” that guards the Sands? It’s probably been awhile since they saw a ship.” 

 

“Several generations if the book is to be  believed,” Killian replied. “It’s said the wizard cursed the inhabitants centuries ago.”

 

“Who knows If they are even still alive,” Emma muttered absently, squinting against the sun. “Probably for the best though, somehow I don't think magic slave owners would be very friendly.”

 

Killian smiled down at her and patted the sword he had strapped to his side before they’d set out.  

 

“If there are people on that cursed island we aren't completely unprepared, Swan,” he reassured her. “We have my charm and my sword, and you could feasibly neutralize them with your magic. I doubt an army of weaponless simians would pose too much of problem,” he said, his tone rather grumpy at the memory. 

 

Now that he’d mentioned it there was an odd buzzing under her skin, a not unpleasant electrical awareness that hummed in her bones. She flexed her fingers experimentally, intrigued.

 

“Well lets hope we don't have to find out,” Emma said. Killian nodded and held up a brown spyglass edged in gold and used his teeth to extend it fully. He put it up to one eye, closing the other as he swept the shoreline. 

 

“No other landmarks save for the ruins,” he said, and in the next breath perked up, his stance going rigid.

 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Emma stepped towards him, her hand going automatically to the sleeve of his coat. 

 

He didn't speak just grimly handed her the spyglass, gently guiding her to a spot on the far distant beach. His touch was warm on her hand, an involuntary shiver going straight down her spine at the contact. She forced herself to focus, squinting into the eyepiece.

 

There was a man there, his arms waving furiously, one hand cupped to his mouth, and she could hear it then, the faint sounds of his voice calling out across the water.

 

“He’s signaling something,” Emma frowned and squinted her eye harder, trying to see. “I don’t know-”

 

The ship gave a sudden sharp rock as a something huge and heavy struck the wood of the hull with a boom.

 

“What the  _ hell _ was that,” Emma dropped the spyglass, Killian catching it just in time. He shoved it in his coat in one smooth motion, already making his way across the deck. 

 

“I think we're about to find out,” he called back to her over another loud booming crack as something else struck the ship, sending her sprawling across the deck. 

 

“Grab onto something!”  Killian yelled, still managing to stay upright despite the next violent pitch of the ship.

 

Emma cried out as the ship shuddered once more and something monstrous and unnatural came down, splintering the wood of the deck just inches from her head. 

 

“Emma!” She could barely hear Killian’s cry over the sudden terrifying roar, her stomach flipping in fear as she scrambled across the deck, away from the huge shining tentacle that slipped and probed across the deck, away from the shrieking bellows of some kind of demon from the deep. 

 

Killian was back at her side in an instant, his hand and hook lifting her bodily, half dragging, half hugging her to his chest as he pulled her away from the  _ thing _ , her feet slipping out from under her as they scrabbled back towards the helm. 

 

“What the hell is that thing?” She yelled over the noise, the rush of water joining in the din of bellowing beast and the faint cries of the children from the belly of the ship. She looked over the hatch, and sent a silent prayer up that they were okay, that they were safe in there. 

 

“Kraken,” Killian grabbed onto a line, and began shouting directions at her she could barely hear but still managed to follow her limbs keeping up even if her eyes could not. The ship seemed to almost be helping her along, the great sails unfurling with a snap of canvas and the whine of quickly moving rope. They hung useless and lank in the air above them. 

 

Killian ran past her, tugging on another line. 

 

“There’s not enough bloody wind,” he yelled a curse, and braced himself against the deck, another pitch of the ship had her stomach dropping out as he made his way across back towards her. 

 

She gripped his forearm, his other arm sliding around her waist to keep her upright as another tentacle came over the rail. The creature let out another shrieking roar, the sound raising goosebumps along her arms in terror at the unnatural noise. Another tentacle gripped the rail, the ship lurching again, water rushing as it  _ pulled  _ the ship further away from shore.

 

When she looked up at him the look on his face, a desperate frustrated fear widening his eyes, her heart thudded in violent terror. 

 

“Maybe now is a good time to test those cannons?”she yelled over another bellowing cry from the beast. 

 

“Stay by the wheel. Hold on as hard as you can.” He took her hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze before placing it deliberately on one of the wooden pegs. Emma looked down at it bewildered for second, her brain still a few seconds behind. but another lurch of the ship had her doing as he instructed, reaching out to grab it more firmly with both. 

 

Killian was already making his way across the deck, fighting against the tremors as another and then another tentacle slammed onto the deck. The thing was enormous in scale, easily three times the size of the ship, huge sucking pads sticking it fast to the deck. 

 

It seemed like an eternity watching him cross the deck behind her towards the twin cannons at the stern. The ship rocked again, another loud crack making her wince, hoping the children were safe below, praying the belly of the ship wasn't at that moment filling with water from a breach. She could no longer hear them over the chaos and that worried her the most.

 

Killian grabbed onto the gun, straining to swivel it, and picked up a heavy iron ball by the base. He fell to his knees, and braced himself against the deck as another violent lurch sent the ship up and back down in rapid succession. Water rained down onto them as another tentacle swirled in the air, soaking her hair and jacket, plastering it against her head. 

 

Killian let out a bellow of rage, the cannon now loaded, and reached into his coat. He brought out something small in his hand, and struck it in one harsh movement against the steel of his hook. Emma could see him curse, and strike again, more water crashing down onto the deck. He struck again, and again, but it refused to catch. 

 

Emma looked around, desperate. And then with sudden clarity it came to her, a long forgotten spell, fairly useless by all accounts but one Roland had seen endless possibilities for. 

 

Animation.

 

Killian fell, dropping the flint as he went, and it skittered uselessly across the sopping wet deck. He scrabbled for it, arm outstretched, pulling himself across the deck with his hook as his feet slipped, trying to find purchase.

 

Emma squeezed her eyes closed, the words just out of reach, and then suddenly she was speaking them aloud, her voice lost on the roaring water and the groan of the ship, the shrieking cries of the unnatural thing holding them hostage. She held out her hand, the buzzing beneath her skin, so much stronger here, so much  _ more,  _ surged out of her fingertips, an electrical energy unlike anything she had ever felt before. 

 

The ship glowed with a soft golden light, ropes twitching on the deck, moving on their own, and then it shuddered again, a vibration that rattled her teeth in her skull as she cried out the final word of the spell. 

 

With a sickening rip the ship darted forward, the sucking cups of the tentacles torn violently away from the wood in one rending motion. The monster shrieked again, this time in pain, her hands going involuntarily to her ears to muffle the terrible sound. She braced her knees to keep herself upright.

 

But they moved. They  _ soared _ across the water, and it rushed past in a stinging spray as they hurtled towards the beach. She could hear Killian’s yell as he flew back against the cannon, pinned there by the sheer force of the ship screaming through the bay. 

 

They hit land with a huge booming thump, and Emma landed painfully, her palms slapping the deck, her knee banging into the wood.

 

Behind them the kraken gave another scream, a rush of water and then there was silence.

 

Emma groaned a bit, flexing her fingers on the deck. Killian was already moving, flying across the beams towards her, his hand and hook on her forearms to help her to feet before she could even catch her breath. 

 

He let out an amazed laugh, and shook her a bit.

 

“That was bloody incredible,” he laughed again, his voice choked with exuberance. “Amazing.” 

 

The praise hit her like a physical blow, a force of genuine happiness and pride she had never seen the equal of that made her knees buckle. He was still holding her up, clutching her arm in desperate joy, his eyes bright and shining with excitement, chest heaving as he caught his breath. 

 

“But your ship,” Emma said lamely, unsure of how to respond but unwilling to let him release her either.

 

“Has seen far worse I assure you,” Emma raised an eyebrow at that, and Killian hastily amended it. “Well perhaps not, but thanks to you she lives to fight another day. As do we all, love.” Emma flushed at the softened tone on the endearment, at the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. She felt her lips part, and her head tilted back of its own accord. Her hands gripped his elbows as she swayed slightly, closer. 

 

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and she followed the movement, her eyes drifting lower to the cords of his neck and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, still catching his breath. He was so close, and adrenaline surged through her, her hands gripped even tighter. 

 

They were alive. Emma felt her eyes begin that familiar flutter down, her breath hitch in anticipation, and then a shout from below. 

 

“Emma!” Henry yelled, his voice muffled and far away below the deck. Emma jerked away.

 

“Shit, the kids!” That seemed to break the spell, Killian immediately crossing over to yank open the hatch revealing the step ladder below.

 

Three wide eyed and shaken faces, looked up at them from the floor of the cabin. Roland flashed them a toothy grin. 

 

“That. was. so. cool!”

 

_____

 

“Well now that we know  _ someone _ lives on this island we need to make a game plan,” Emma looked between her three young charges, Henry and Grace still a bit wide eyed and trembling at their places at the table. Roland, however, had climbed onto the mantle of the window, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of the monster in the bay. The ship had slid into the land at a sharp angle, completely beached. 

 

“Aye, until we can determine what we’re up against I suggest we assume there will be a certain level of hostility,” he frowned. “If that demon was any indication I'd say we can't necessarily plan on a warm welcome

 

“If that demon was any indication I think we should leave, immediately,” Emma said. 

 

Henry cried out in protest, leaping from his chair. 

 

“You promised,” he accused. “You said we would get the sand.” 

 

“Henry,” Emma said softly. “We were almost just all fish food.”

 

“But we’re not. You stopped it.” He looked for a moment like a lost little boy before his face hardened again. “I'm not going,” he said defiantly. “There has to be a way to get past that thing. I know there is.” 

 

“Henry-” Emma tried again but she could tell from the boy’s face it was useless. 

 

“Perhaps-” Killian said gently. “-the locals will have some useful information as to the nature of the beast. Assuming they don't try to kill us on sight that is.”

 

Emma frowned at him, and the hopeful expression that lit Henry’s face at having the pirate on his side. 

 

“I'm just offering a compromise,” Killian said lowly to her. “We can depart at the first sign of danger. We have more of the beans, correct?” He swept Henry’s person with interest, as if trying to ascertain their location. 

 

“We already had the first sign of danger,” Emma glared. “It’s the size of a skyscraper and has tentacles. And teeth. A lot of them.” 

 

Killian leaned back, resting his hand in his belt, and offered no further argument. 

 

“I'm not leaving,” Henry said firmly. Grace hesitated, looking unsure but ultimately said nothing. 

 

A tense silence filled the room as they all faced each other down. Emma was at a loss as to what to do. Short of bodily forcing the boy into submission she was ill prepared to face a defiant pre-teen who just wanted his home back, and it didn't appear that the only other adult would be any help at all. She sighed.

 

“Henry get out a bean,” she said.

 

“No. I'm not going to just give up,” the boy crossed his arms defensively across his chest and backed away. “I won't let you have them. I hid them and I'm not going to tell you where.”

 

“I'm not going to take them from you,” Emma snapped, frustration rising. “But if we’re going to blindy go ask a bunch of island people how to deal with a giant sea monster I’d like to have an escape plan at the ready.” 

 

Henry glared at her for a moment. 

 

“Fine. But I'm holding the bean,” he said after a moment. Emma held her hands up in defeat. 

 

“Whatever, but at the first sign that this is heading for disaster kid we are getting out of here,” Emma said. “Agreed?” 

 

He continued to look sullen for a few moments before giving a jerking nod of his head. Killian nodded at her. 

 

“We won't let anything happen to them Swan,” he said quietly. 

 

“Oh? Because we’ve done a spectacular job so far,” she snapped. “Henry get the bean.” 

 

Henry slipped out of the room to retrieve it, Grace following behind him with an awkward helpless shrug at the two adults. 

 

“I'll see what we have in the way of protection,” Killian said after another moment silence. “I have a few swords and such we can use to defend ourselves.”

 

“Yes, because arming the children who won't listen to me seems like a great idea,” Emma said sarcastically.

 

“I'm just trying to help, Swan.”

 

“Well don't, okay? It's my job to protect these kids and so far I'm not doing that great. We’re in some other realm or whatever, with god knows what kind of people living here and we were almost just some giant squid thing’s dinner.” 

 

“The bloke on the shore was trying to warn us,” Killian reminded her. “Why do that if his people would just want us dead anyway?” 

 

“Why don't you just ask them?” Roland piped up from his perch on the mantle. Emma startled, having forgotten he was there for a moment.

 

“What?”

 

“Just ask them, they’re heading down the beach,” the little boy pointed. “They look like knights!”

 

They hurried over to the window, leaning over to squint out into the beach beyond. There were perhaps a dozen of them, a procession along the beach of armored men and women, a few on horseback, the rest slogging through the sand and every one of them appeared armed. 

 

Emma and Killian looked at each other for a moment, expressions grim. 

 

“Henry! Grace!” Emma called, her voice just that edge of frantic, trying to keep it calm for Roland’s sake. “Can you guys come back in here? Now? Please?” 

 

Killian was already moving across the cabin, digging into a chest and tossing her a small sword before she could really process what she was catching. She looked down at it bewildered.

 

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” 

 

“You know-” he made a stabbing gesture at the air.

 

“I've never used a freaking sword before Killian,” she hissed.

 

“It’s quite easy love, pointy end goes in the other guy.” 

 

Emma scoffed, still staring down at the sword as he made his way back across the cabin. He pulled out the oldest gun she had ever seen, checking a few things before shoving it into his coat.

 

“What's going on?” Grace asked, slipping back into the room. Henry followed still slightly sullen behind her. 

 

“We have guests,” Killian said shortly. 

 

“Guests?” Grace looked to Emma for clarification fear lacing her voice. “The people from the island who want to kill us?”

 

Emma wanted to curse. She really was terrible at this whole taking care of children gig. 

 

“We don't know that for sure,” she said and took a deep breath. “We’re just being...cautious. They could be perfectly nice...soldiers.”

 

Beside her Killian was pulling Henry to him with his hook, flipping a small straight blade sheathed dagger in his hand. 

 

“Just in case lad,” he said. He helped the bewildered boy put the dagger in his belt, making a show of brushing down Henry’s jacket with hand and hook. “Now you’re practically a real pirate.” 

 

“Can I have one?” Roland leapt from the mantle, bouncing in place. 

 

“No.” Emma and Killian replied instantly in unison, both of them cringing at the immediately crestfallen look on his face. His tiny face pinched, eyes welling with sudden tears. Killian recovered first, if not a bit uneasily. 

 

“I have something much more important for you to do, my boy,” Killian said with forced cheer. He shoved something into his pocket and came out with something else, slyly slipping Grace another small knife of her own, this one covered in soft burgundy leather.

 

“You do?” He asked, one tiny hand rubbing at his eyes, voice slightly choked. 

 

“Aye, the most important job of all.” Killian said seriously. He put his hand back into his coat, drawing out the elegant spyglass from earlier. 

 

“What else is in there, jeez?” Emma asked amazed. Killian winked at her before turning his attention back to the almost crying child. 

 

“You’ll be our lookout, let us know how close they’re getting. Keep an eye out for the sea beast, you know. I ‘spect you’ll see it much better with this.” 

 

“Really? Can I keep it?” Roland asked, tears gone in an instant, snatching the spyglass away to shove it rather forcefully into his eye. 

 

Killian looked almost like he was going to refuse, a bit affronted, but a sharp look from Emma had him forcing a cheerful grin. 

 

“Course you can! All yours lad,” he said and turned back towards the ladder. The switch from placating caregiver to hardened pirate was instantaneous, his eyes going hard, muscles tense. 

 

“Now then. Let’s go meet the neighbors.” 

  
  


____

  
  


“Kid’s stay behind us,” Emma said over her shoulder, ushering the wary children towards her back with one hand, the small sword gripped tightly in her other, still in its sheath.

 

Killian was not quite so patient, drawing his with a flourish, jaw clenched as the party approached the beached vessel. 

 

“They’re wearing armor,” Emma hissed.

 

“And I'm dressed like a pirate what is your point?”

 

“That men in weird costumes haven't exactly been trustworthy so far. And that they outnumber us.” Killian scoffed at her for a moment, looking mildly hurt before turning his attention back to the approaching group,.

  
  


If a sword wielding pirate Captain in head to toe black leather phased them they gave no indication, their horses plodding along at the same pace as before. Emma squared her stance, putting her other hand on the hilt.

 

“We mean you no harm!” A dark haired man on the center horse called and raised his arm placatingly, his smile white against a crisp dark beard. “My squire thought you dead for sure.” 

 

“And might you have any intention of correcting his error, mate?” Killian asked almost lazily, the sword still held out before him. 

 

“Quite the opposite,” the man said easily, drawing the brown mare up alongside the ship, lifting his hand again to stop his entourage from coming any closer. 

 

He nodded at the soldiers and they stood down, relaxing immediately.

 

“We came to see if we could offer aid, tend to the wounded, if necessary.” He motioned to a small woman carrying a basket of what looked like linen bandages, bottles and sprigs of herbs peeking from the wicker. “But I can see that won't be necessary. You all certainly seem healthy enough.” 

 

The man smiled again good naturedly. Emma shifted, uneasy, her magic buzzing beneath her skin. He seemed friendly,  and his party was clean and similarly non hostile in appearance, the soldiers that made up their rag tag retinue at ease. Still he made her uncomfortable, something odd in his crystal blue eyes, something suspicious in his smile. 

 

Killian seemed to sense it as well, his grip tightening on the sword even as he lowered it, smiling the fake smile she had come to recognize, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

 

“I've never seen a ship face the beast and live to tell the tale,” the leader said. “ _No_ _one_ has fought that demon and lived in centuries. I'm quite impressed.”

 

Killian flashed his teeth, gesturing with his hook, which flashed in the midday sun. 

 

“You should see what we can do with a sword or two,” the comment was jovial, the threat unmistakeable but the man just smiled wider, bowing his head slightly in friendly submission.

  
  


“I am Arthur, and this,” he turned on the horse and gestured to the broken ruins beyond the dunes. “Is my kingdom. It may not seem like much but we have hot food and warm beds for you and your children. A place to stay until your vessel is seaworthy again. “

 

“We already have beds and food,” Emma said shortly. The man turned his attention to her, blue green eyes glittering.

 

“As you say, milady,” he bowed again, deeper this time and gentlemanly, the action somehow graceful even on the back of a huge animal. “I understand your apprehension completely, of course. It has been awhile since we had visitors ourselves and we weren't exactly sure of your intentions either.” He motioned to the soldiers and their accompanying weaponry. “Surely, anyone who could face The Beast and live is someone to be cautious of.” 

 

Emma looked at Killian again the uneasiness turning to hesitance as she took in the party in full. There were two people who could very well be healers of some sort present, both with similar baskets of items, and the armored guards had not moved for their weapons in the slightest. There was an excited curiosity on faces all around, intrigued by new visitors by all appearances. Except for this Arthur’s rather smarmy personality, part and parcel for someone who appeared to rule this place, they seemed to be exactly as they appeared, non threatening and hospitable.

 

Killian did not seem to agree, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he stared the man down. Arthur just looked back placidly, the very picture of understanding.

 

“We’ll let you know if we require your assistance,” Killian said shortly. Behind them Henry made a noise of protest and stepped forward.

 

“You said they might know about the creature,” the boy hissed. “They might be the only way we can find out how to get past it.”

 

Killian turned slightly to face the boy, never fully turning his attention away nor taking his hand off his blade. He looked to Emma for assistance. Emma hesitated, taking in the distress on Henry’s face at the possibility they were giving up their one lead, their one shot at valuable information. She looked again at Killian who shook his head so imperceptibly it might not have happened at all, his jaw still clenched tightly. There was something about this Arthur he didn't like, that much was clear. Still, her eyes flickered to the healers in the group, the friendly welcoming smile on the man's face, and back to Henry’s own wild desperate eyes. 

 

She thought of herself at his age, moving from place to place desperate for home for stability. The orphanage might not have been a family but it was home for him, for all three of them. She knew first hand how important it was to find that. How devastating it was to have it ripped away. She would do anything to have Ingrid back, would have gone to the ends of the earth for any small chance of seeing her foster mother again, and if there was a small chance she could do that for him, get his home back, it was up to her to take it. 

 

“Maybe we give them a shot,” Emma leaned in to whisper. “Like you said.” Killian shifted further into her space, bowing his head towards her. It was a bad time to notice the length of his lashes, the red hairs dotting the dark scruff along his jaw. She drew in a breath and called down to Arthur, locked on Killian’s intense blue eyes.

 

“Can you give us a minute?” 

 

“Of course, take all the time you need,” he swept her with another bow in her periphery and reined his horse, motioning to the group to head back further up the beach. 

 

“What happened to leaving at the first sign of danger?” Killian hissed. “Where I come from men with swords  _ signal _ danger.”

 

“What happened to offering a compromise?” she countered. Killian huffed exasperated, clearly fighting some internal battle with his instincts. Emma herself wasn't sure what to think. The evidence was certainly compelling. The warning from the man on the beach, the baskets of first aid supplies, a friendly offer of food and shelter, but there was something off here, something not quite right. 

 

“I realize there isn't anything in this for you,” she said finally. “You kept up your end up the bargain, so if we leave it's no skin off your back, but I promised them I would see this through. And I will.”

 

“Is that what you think?” Killian said, the same hurt from before dropping his face, his voice incredulous. “That I'm being selfish? I’m trying to keep us  _ safe _ , Swan. That's what you wanted.”

 

Emma looked at him levelly. 

 

“Keep  _ us _ safe? Or look out for yourself?” 

 

Killian just stared at her disbelieving. 

 

“I'm the one who suggested we give them a chance in the _first_ _place_ ,” he bit out.

 

Emma flashed him a cheerful smile. 

 

“Exactly! And now we are,” she took one more look at Henry’s face, at the hope shining in his eyes.

 

She turned back to Arthur, stepping away from Killian, turning her back to him as she called back to the waiting group. 

 

“We accept your offer, but we have some questions.” 

 

____

 

Killian was silent and tense during the entire journey into the center of the small island. His hand still never far from his sword. She could feel his anger as clearly as the hum of magic in her veins. He trudged along, coat sweeping the brush and scrub of the jungle floor, casting the occasional look behind him at his ship. He seemed to be wrestling with himself, torn, but every time he would turn back resolved, his eyes slipping over herself and the children briefly before snapping back to the strange group ahead of them. 

 

She wasn't sure if it was concern over his home that had him so agitated, worry over the danger they were possibly barreling towards, or something else. A desire to leave perhaps, to cut ties and leave all this craziness behind him. Either way he kept glancing back. 

 

Emma did her best to put her guilt and honestly, her fear, irrational and unwanted as it was, of such a possibility, aside, focusing instead on the hopeful children plodding along between them. Roland swinging her arm between them, practically skipping with excitement, taking in the new surroundings and their hosts with childlike enthusiasm. Henry and Grace seemed happier too, no longer sporting twin looks of anxiety as they shuffled along the sandy path.

 

She had made the right choice. She was sure of it. 

 

The trip to the encampment was brief, a cut dirt road leading them through the dense underbrush of a tropical paradise, the crumbling keep growing larger and larger. Brilliant green leaves and colorful flowers lead the way, the thick growth sparse in place giving glimpses of small thatch roofed stone huts and rough rock fences. 

 

Arthur and his group hadn't commented on their weapons, hadn't made any moves to confiscate them or asked them to leave them behind as they secured the ship. He had merely promised a feast fit for a king, laughing at his own joke, promising them a celebration in light of their victory over The Beast, a ball in their honor. 

 

“You seek the Sands then,” Arthur had gotten down from his horse at some point, slowing his pace to draw up alongside her, startling her from her musings. Killian was several feet away from her but she could  _ feel _ him tense as the king matched pace with her own slower strides. He smiled down at Roland.

 

“How-?” Emma started but he just chuckled darkly.

 

“That’s why they all come, that's all there is here,” he said. “I admit, you’ve fared better than most.”

 

“So people have succeeded then? Getting past the monster?” 

 

“Oh no,” Arthur shook his head emphatically. “A few have lived to tell the tale of their efforts of course, but even then not for a few hundred years.” 

 

Emma frowned. 

 

“So there’s no way to get to them?” Emma asked, Henry had turned towards them as well, taking in every word. 

 

“Not that we’ve found,” Arthur said sadly. “It isn't for a lack of effort I assure you. Those sands would improve many lives in my kingdom. Resources grow scarcer by the day, the people have run low on hope.” Arthur looked pained by the admission, that he couldn't provide more for the people in his charge. Emma felt a pang of sympathy for the man.

 

“Why not leave then? Find a new place to settle? Somewhere without a giant sea monster on your doorstep.” 

 

“Would that we could, milady,” Arthur looked pained. “No ship can leave the bay or travel by water from any direction around the island. We have lost many good men and women, and what little lumber we had in the attempts.” 

 

“And no ships can come in”, Emma reasoned. 

 

“Some have tried, the legend of the Sands is known in many realms, but none so far have succeeded. Not from above the water or below.”

 

With each word the man spoke Henry seemed to deflate further and further. 

 

“What about magic?” The boy blurted after a moment’s silence. “Has anyone tried that?”

 

Arthur turned to look at him eyes gleaming for a split second, blink and you missed it, before smoothing into something more neutral. Emma felt something like alarm rise up in her chest, competing with the sharp edges of her power which had flared at the mention of them, so much stronger here. She tried to signal Henry to be quiet but he was ignoring her, focused on the king. 

 

“Magic is a rare and precious gift,” Arthur said finally. “We have not had many of its practitioners make the attempt. Many have used it to make the journey of course, but few wielded their own.”

 

“So it’s possible,” Henry said before Emma could catch his eye. Seeing the look on her face Arthur smiled, leaning back as he walked to sweep her with his eyes from feet to crown. 

 

“Is that how you escaped the beast then? Magic?” He seemed overly pleased at the notion, almost hungry. The weight of his gaze made Emma uncomfortable.

 

“Just a few parlour tricks I picked up here and there,” Killian lied smoothly, stepping between them, he grinned roguishly at the man. “Pixie dust, surely you’ve heard of it?”

 

“Ah,” Arthur nodded, eyes shining. “I've heard mentions of it, yes. You wouldn't happen to have any left would you? An item like that would certainly be useful to my people.” 

 

“Fresh out,” Killian’s said shortly, his teeth gleamed in the sun. 

 

“Ah, more’s the pity,” Arthur looked genuinely regretful if not convinced, and turned back towards the keep which was now just feet away. “Now, let's see you settled and begin preparations, we have a feast to arrange!”

 

He gave a gentlemanly bow once again and quickened his pace, drawing ahead to lead them onto a broken cobblestone path, a huge gate, rust worn and barely hanging into the crumbling stone looming ominously just ahead. 

 

Emma slowed, resting her hand on the sleeve of Killian’s coat to hold him back. He looked down at it briefly in surprise before looking up. 

 

“What do you think? Can we trust him?” She whispered quietly, the children thankfully taking in the huge towering spires of the castle, or what was left of them, too distracted to hear.

 

“I've met thieves and pirates I trust more than him,” Killian said gruffly. At the moment Emma was inclined to agree, there was something off about the man’s easy charm and downtrodden sob story. Something that set her inner lie detector pinging without the actual presence of a lie. 

 

“Just keep your guard up,” she said lowly. Killian nodded a promise at her and tapped the pommel of his sword meaningfully with his hook as they walked through the gates together.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

It seemed the strategy to make them feel at ease was a constant whirlwind of activity from the moment they set foot in the crumbling remains of what once had once been a thriving kingdom. Threadbare banners hung from crumbling brick, and entire walls had toppled to dust and small bits of stone in the centuries since its downfall. 

 

The tour was brief, with only a few structures in the city square that looked serviceable enough to live in, thatched roofs repaired with brown bits of palm leaves, weathered wood alternated with lashed bits of bamboo and whatever materials could be spared to cobble together some semblance of a working village. The castle itself was more of a common area, a few rooms still in use but most of it a victim of the harsh island climate, and many years of decay. 

 

They were the hot topic of interest among the gathered townspeople, curious and excited eyes gleamed, following them wherever they went. They seemed friendly enough, unarmed and eager. But there was something off in some of their expressions, something greedy and predatory in a few of the faces in the crowd that had Emma pulling the children in closer, shifting into Killian’s space as they awkwardly made their way into the main square. 

 

The people gathered around like vultures, a teeming mass of threadbare clothing and wide over zealous smiles, all of them trying to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals. She looked uneasily at Killian who surveyed the crowd, looking for any overt signs of danger beyond their excess of enthusiasm. 

 

“Maybe it's just been awhile since they’ve seen new people,” she muttered reading his expression, leaning further towards him.

 

He grunted disbelievingly and narrowed his eyes at the King, who had leapt atop a stone table at the center of the square and had begun loudly describing their triumph over The Beast to the gathered crowd, his voice as proud and boastful as if he had bested it himself. 

 

“I wonder why that could be?” was Killian’s only reply. She wanted to roll her eyes at his dramatics but she had to admit there was something off about the guy. She couldn't decide if he was just a man trying to lead his people through a bad situation or someone far more sinister. 

 

The children were thankfully oblivious to the rather odd behavior of the gathered townsfolk and the grownups’ increasing suspicions.  Roland reveled in the attention, a spotlight he probably rarely got to have, lost as he was in crowds of other children in the orphanage. She could remember that feeling all too well. One of many mouths to feed, one of dozens to clothe and educate, neither more important or more worthy than any other. He flashed his dimples and waved a tiny hand at anyone who looked his way, a little showman with a mop of curly brown hair. It broke her heart a little.

 

Henry and Grace were more reserved, unused to so much focus, and of an age where it was not so desired. They huddled close together to talk in excited hushed whispers, faces flushed and embarrassed but with small secretly pleased smiles at their newfound fame. 

 

Emma didn't want to take that away from them with fear and suspicion. She shook her head at Killian and mouthed “Take it easy” tilting her head in the direction of the kids. He gave a brief nod to say he understood but his clenched jaw also spoke volumes about how he felt. His dislike of them being basically thrown into a throng of potentially dangerous predators palpable.

 

“And so we will have a feast! A day of celebration in their honor, to commemorate the day they outwitted the demon that plagues our waters!” Arthur was bellowing, raucous cheers following the pronouncement, a sea of eyes turning in their direction.

 

“That’s really not necessary-” Emma started to say, but the crowd’s cheers were too loud, and Arthur’s face, looking down at her from his perch on the tabletop did not look like it would welcome any opposition. It was only there for an instant, like the brief flash of curious interest on their trek to the castle, but it unnerved her just the same. 

 

She stepped back at the look, knocking right into Killian, who steadied her with a hand on her hip, looking down at her in concern. He didn't appear to have seen the exchange, focused instead on keeping a watchful eye on Roland who was cheerfully telling a kneeling, mystified woman that they should have cheeseburgers at the feast.

 

She looked back at Arthur, all traces of the odd expression gone, smiling jovially now and cheerfully calling for flowers and wine to be brought forth, his face open and honest, seeming to be genuinely excited at the prospect of a celebration for his people. Perhaps she had imagined it? All that talk of dangerous island people and their encounter with the monster had perhaps left her a bit more shaken than she’d like to admit. It had been a long and ridiculously weird day. Perhaps it was just her imagination running away from her. 

 

“Love?” Killian phrased the endearment as a question, concern furrowing his brow and she shook her head.

 

“Nothing I just thought I saw-” Emma shook her head again as the man lifted a small toddler high in the air, laughing at the child’s excited sequels, carrying him off into the crowd to no doubt continue preparations. “It’s nothing.” 

 

Killian looked unconvinced, but said nothing more, his hand suddenly warm through the thin fabric of her jeans when she realized it was still there. He didn't seem to notice it, an easy gesture of familiarity. She stepped away, the shiver that went down her back of a different sort altogether this time, a zinging heat and a warm flush. He blinked, the movement drawing attention to his hand, his fingers flexing down by his leg. When she turned back around a moment later his cheeks were slightly redder in the sun.

 

He didn't look at her again, busying himself by snagging the over eager Roland by the hood of his sweater with his hook and pulling him back to them. A protective movement, the boy apparently drifting too far away for his liking. She smiled, the heat turning to a warm glow.

 

“We’ll have to find you something to wear dear,” a woman was saying in her ear, and Emma whirled startled and for some reason embarrassed at being caught staring. 

 

“The children too. We might have something of the Queen’s that will suit you, and I'm sure we can borrow something for the wee ones.” 

 

“I don't need any clothes,” Emma said, hoping she didn't sound as snappish as she felt. She awkwardly brushed sand from the thigh of her jeans, wondering absently at the state of her hair soaked in sea water and drying in the sun. She looked down at herself. What she was wearing was fine. She self consciously brushed away another patch of sticking sand.

 

“Nonsense! This is a special day!” The woman’s tone, though friendly, brokered no argument, and before Emma could protest further she was calling over a man to fetch trunks from the castle. 

 

“I really don't need-” Emma started to protest again, but the woman had moved to Grace, sizing the girl up and declaring she had just the thing for her. 

 

It seemed the celebration was happening, whether they wanted it or not, the townspeople already moving to begin the preparations, excited at a reason for a holiday of sorts. Emma looked helplessly to Killian, but he was rebuffing the woman’s own attempts to alter his wardrobe for the occasion.

 

“I guess it couldn't hurt?” Emma whispered to him, uneasy and unsure. “I mean they look really happy to see us at least.”

 

Killian frowned but nodded. 

 

“The question is, Swan,  _ why _ are they so happy to see us?” 

 

Emma looked at the bustling chattering crowd, but couldn't think of an answer. 

 

______

 

Before she knew it Emma found herself wearing a borrowed gown, a bit too long for her apparently shorter frame, but gorgeous and no doubt expensive. It smelled of lavender sachets and the musty odor of a long storage, but it was clean and she had to admit, lovely. A muted magenta velvet edged in gold with dramatically draped sleeves and a nipped in waist that made Emma feel beautiful in a way her serviceable  jeans and leather jacket never quite achieved. That was her standard uniform. It wasn’t everyday she got to dress like royalty. She still insisted on wearing her borrowed sword and her boots, the one battle she had won with the indomitable woman who reminded her a little bit of Granny, a fierce lady who singlehandedly ran the diner back home. 

 

The owner of the gown was still a mystery however, all Emma’s questions about the absent Queen to whom it once belonged met with awkward uncomfortable smiles and hurriedly changed subjects. She added it to the list of Things That Were Off About This Place, a list that was steadily growing as the day wore on. 

 

She tried to keep on a happy face though for the children’s sake, and for their excited hosts. But she kept Grace close to her, Killian assuring her he would do the same with the boys as they left to dress in the repurposed rooms of the castle’s remains.

 

And Grace did look adorable in a borrowed dress of lavender and mint, this one a bit more careworn from current use, her face shining with excitement as she twirled and preened in front of the mirror, a flower crown on her head and beautiful new braids in her hair, her dagger tucked into a golden belt. It was worth the discomfort of an unwanted party to see the girl’s face, glowing with anticipation of a night she had never dreamed of experiencing. 

 

She could only imagine how Roland and Henry were reacting, all of them starved for this kind of pomp and circumstance, a collection of orphans who hadn't ever known special birthday gatherings or individual holiday celebrations beyond the institutional. 

 

Still, it was best to be cautious, and Emma didn't let her charge leave her sight. She had given Killian explicit, whispered instructions to do the same. Which he appeared to have heeded as they came back into the crowded square at dusk, Roland and Henry by his side, dressed in their borrowed formal attire, lightly scarred silk and leather, the only hint of their original clothing the sneakers on their feet, a dagger tucked into Henry’s wide brown held and Roland’s spyglass tucked into his.

 

The townspeople were gathered in various groups, their day clothes exchanged for more formal versions, chattering excitedly in the transformed courtyard. Tropical flowers and decorative vines hung from every available surface, freshly picked and brilliant in flickering torchlight. 

 

Casks of water and home brewed wine lined the edges, serving as a last minute tables for the quickly prepared fare. There were various cooked meats and fruits on offer, mostly fish and fowl, pineapples, mangoes, and coconuts arranged as prettily as could be expected with only a few hours lead time. It reminded Emma of a luau. A medieval luau. 

 

Killian had stuck by his refusal to change his clothes, the only concession to the event slightly neater hair, which was still a bit chaotic despite his efforts. 

 

Her own preparations were worth every minute though when, catching sight of her, his mouth dropped open a tad, eyes gleaming as they raked her form, expression turning slowly from dumbstruck wonder into something salacious as he seemed to remember himself.

 

“You look-” he began, but Emma just smiled cutting him off. 

 

“I know,” she smirked at him, doing a bit of preening of her own. She allowed him to bow, his hand warm as he slowly lifted hers for a courtly kiss, pressing his lips, soft and hot, to her skin. A frisson of heat made her stomach flutter, her fingers tingling, and she could feel her face warm as she cleared her throat. 

 

“So what time does this thing start?” she asked, tucking her hair nervously behind her ear.

 

“Why now of course!” Arthur boomed, appearing as if from thin air at her side. She jumped, startled. “We were merely waiting on the guests of honor!” He declared to the gathered crowd, who cheered and clapped, all eyes on them once more. 

 

“To those who outwitted The Beast!” Arthur crowed, and the villagers cheered again, echoing cries of “Death to The Beast!” filling the air. 

 

“Forgive us for the rather sparse offerings,” Arthur said, taking Emma’s arm in his own. She could see Killian bristle in the corner of her eye as Arthur lead the group to the main table. “Our resources are limited here, but we make do.” 

 

“It’s fantastic!” Henry cried. “Like a Hawaiian vacation!”

 

If Arthur knew what Hawaii was he gave no indication, just smiled and arranged for them to sit at the large stone table in the center of the square.

 

“First we feast!” He boomed again to more cheers. “And then some dancing.” He looked down to a now seated Emma. 

 

“I hope you’ll do me the honor?” Before she could answer he had turned to Grace. “And you too of course.” 

 

The girl blushed and nodded, delighted. Emma was not so pleased. Neither it appeared was Killian, who scowled down at the food that began appearing before them, sullenly drawing his flask from his pocket. 

 

“And gifts, for the lovely ladies!” Arthur declared, an attendant coming forth with blue velvet pillows. “I'm afraid we’ve no jewels to adorn you but I hope you’ll accept these humble offerings as tokens of our esteem.” On the pillows lay two handmade necklaces, twin seashells on brown cord, moon shells Emma thought they were called from her days gathering shells on Maine’s beaches, one a pale pearlescent pink, the other a shimmering opal blue. He pulled aside Grace’s hair first, and then Emma’s taking turns to dramatically drape the necklaces around them. The brush of his fingers on her neck made her skin crawl.

 

“And for the gentleman,” Arthur said with a bow. Another pillow was brought forth by a second attendant, these necklaces were cowries, all three matching mottled amber and brown. Roland eagerly snatched his from the pillow and yanked it over his head. Henry was more polite, smiling his thank you and carefully pulling his over his head. Killian, however, shoved his unceremoniously into the pocket of his coat with a half hearted “Cheers, mate” and took a pull from his flask. 

 

“Please, everyone, eat and drink your fill and then the dancing!” Arthur declared, taking his place at the head of the grand stone table on Emma’s right, raising a goblet high into the air.

 

The guests all clapped and began to eat, small metal plates passed around for everyone. The kids ate with enthusiasm, Killian more reservedly so, checking each bit of food and watching carefully who ate what. 

 

“Can I ask you something?” Henry seemed to work up his courage after a long silence, turning towards the King. 

 

“Ask away my boy,” Arthur said cheerfully.

 

“Why haven't you tried to get the Sands yourself?” Henry asked. 

 

“Oh we have, many generations have tried in fact. That's why there are no trees on this island,” Arthur gestured behind him to indicate the lack of trees. “We felled the last few a decade or so ago. We have saplings of course, but they will not be ready for a long time yet.” 

 

Henry looked upset by the news. 

 

“So no boat can get past it? No matter how big or small or whatever?” 

 

“The demon seems to sense them as soon as they cross into its domain,” Arthur said, taking a sip of his wine. “Or people rather, a few unfortunate souls found that out the hard way I'm afraid.” He looked at the group. “They tried to swim past the creature, thinking it wouldn't notice.” He took another sip, this one a bit more aggrieved. “It did.”

 

With each word Henry’s face fell further and further, more and more troubled. 

 

“Have you tried to fight it? With cannons and stuff?” He tried again.

 

“All we had,” Arthur said with a nod. “No blade can pierce its hide and we ran out of cannon shot long ago.” He seemed to check himself and added for emphasis. “Before my time, of course. My ancestors left records.”

Before Emma could stop further questions Henry was already asking, deliberately ignoring her look, repeating his question from earlier.

 

“And magic? You said people tried?” 

  
  


“Henry!” Killian said it good naturedly, with a chuckle, raising his flask in a manner that suggested he had already used it liberally. Emma knew he hadn't. “Leave the man alone, it's a party lad, enjoy yourself!”’

 

“It’s quite alright,” Arthur said with a smile. “As I said on the road we’ve had little magic here. It's how many arrive when they do, but they usually aren't blessed with such a gift.” He narrowed his eyes. “Unless you had something in particular in mind?”

 

“No.” Henry said hastily, his eyes darting worriedly to Emma for a split second. “Nothing in mind just curious. Magic isn't really a thing where we come from.” 

 

Emma felt a surge of pride at his quick thinking, pretending to be interested in her food as she watched the man’s reaction in her periphery. 

 

“And where is that, may I ask?” He directed the question to Emma, all charm and dimpled smiles. 

 

“I mean I don't know what you’d call it here? Earth? London is the city we came from,” Emma shrugged. “Magic free.” 

 

“And how does one get here without magic?” Arthur asked, his voice edged in the barest hint of suspicion, as if trying to find holes in their tale.

 

“Why I brought them, of course,” Killian said, a bit louder than necessary. “Bit of a traveler meself. Ship and all that,” he stared Arthur down, as if daring him to argue. 

 

“It is a beautiful vessel,” Arthur didn't take the bait. “I've never seen the like.” 

 

“Best ship in all the realms,” Killian said. “They asked for a favor finding the Sands, I used a bit of magic I had saved up to get them here.” He flashed his teeth. “For quite a lot of money actually.” 

 

“And the return trip?” Arthur asked casually, taking another sip. “How did you plan on getting back?” 

 

“Well the Sands are magical are they not?” Killian raised an eyebrow. “We planned on using them.” 

 

Arthur nodded and frowned.

 

“I'm afraid you’ll be staying quite a while then,” he said regretfully, the very picture of a man delivering bad news. “I'm not sure if they can even be used in such a manner. I'm not familiar with how exactly they work. Before my time,” he repeated. “And I fear The Sands will never be retrieved, I’m sorry to say. The Beast is too formidable.”

 

Killian flashed his teeth again, gleaming in the torchlight, and raised his flask a bit. 

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

_____

 

The band was out of tune but made up for it with passion, old fiddles and pan pipes coming out of rough leather cases to sing their songs well into the night. 

 

The kids were enjoying themselves immensely, Henry blushing and stammering his way into asking a pretty girl with doe eyes, and shining brown hair, the owner of Grace’s borrowed dress, to dance. Killian slapped his back in a congratulatory way as he passed, his grin infectious, eyes meeting Emma’s conspiratorially across the courtyard. He was refusing to join in himself, that smile the only one he’d shared since dinner, his scowl deterring anyone from asking him. 

 

It was  _ fun  _ though, she had to admit, the people dancing and laughing, singing songs she had never heard before. Watching Roland dance with every older lady in attendance, his cheeks red from pinching, his giggles infectious as they spun him across the stone. 

 

Only Grace seemed to not be having a good time, her eyes enviously watching the turning dancers, watching Henry and the girl, Violet bumble their way through their own version of the dance. Emma had offered to act as partner, but the girl had sadly shaken her head, fiddling with the seashell around her neck despondently. Emma herself had politely declined all offers, citing a bad knee as her excuse, preferring to watch rather than partake.

 

“Would you do me the honor, milady?” 

 

Emma looked up startled, her face flushing at Killian’s voice above her. But when she did he wasn't offering his hand to her, but rather to Grace with a comically exaggerated bow.

 

The girl’s face lit up delighted, and she nodded vigorously as she leapt from her seat. Killian shot Emma a wink over the girl’s head and swept Grace into his arms to join the throng.

 

Emma's heart soared, the warmth returning as a grateful smile broke across her face, watching them dance. Killian’s movements we're sure and graceful, obviously practiced, making up easily for Grace’s inexperience, twirling them with exaggerated movements that had the girl laughing joyfully as he spun them about. Emma couldn't help the laugh that came out, the bubbling joy of seeing the girl so happy. Her heart thundered, stomach fluttering. 

 

“He’s quite skilled,” Arthur remarked, appearing next to her again. “And you, I believe milady, promised me a dance.” 

 

Emma wanted to protest she had done no such thing, but he was already pulling her to her feet, people marking their progress with their eyes, and before she could pull away he was leading her onto the floor. 

 

Thankfully he was respectful, keeping his hands in neutral areas, a good distance between them as the fiddles began the next number, a waltz.

 

“So tell me about yourself Emma,” he said conversationally. He too was a skilled dancer, which being a King was unsurprising. He was also gracious about Emma repeatedly, and sometimes not so accidentally, treading on his feet. It was much harder than it looked this dancing business, she had never been to a dance that wasn't a loud pulsing club before. 

 

“Um there’s not much to tell,” Emma shrugged, almost stumbling on her dress as he whirled her around. “I'm a Sheriff’s Deputy. Like a guard of sorts? I keep the peace.” 

 

“And take care of three children! You’re a busy woman,” Arthur smiled down at her.

 

“Well the kids are new,” Emma admitted. “I'm just taking care of them temporarily until we can find them a place. Their home burned down.” 

 

“How tragic,” the words were right but the tone and expression was all wrong. “And that's why you seek the Sands?”

 

“Yeah,” Emma said uneasily. “We want to fix it for them.” 

 

“How noble and heroic,” again, the words were right, the tone was off. “Well I am impressed with what I've seen so far. That bit with the ship, flying through the air my squire said. He’d never seen the like.” 

 

“Yeah, fairy dust,” Emma shrugged. “I guess that's what it does.” 

 

“Pixie dust,” Arthur corrected. “That’s what the pirate said.” 

 

Emma frowned at the mild accusation in his correction, the instant label of Killian as a pirate. He was, but that wasn't the point.

 

“Yeah, pixie, fairy, whatever. Little things with wings. Same difference,” she shrugged.

 

Arthur chuckled.

 

“Indeed. It’s just a ship that size-” before he could finish the thought a leather clad arm appeared between them.

 

“Mind if I cut in? Much obliged, mate,” Killian said before Arthur could protest, gently taking Emma into his arms and twirling them away before the man even opened his mouth. 

 

“What about Grace?” Emma asked breathlessly, his sudden closeness making her head spin as he moved them expertly around.

 

“Had a better offer,” he tilted his head in close, their cheeks almost touching and indicated the spot where Grace and a handsome dark skinned youth were blushing at each other and moving about the floor. 

 

Killian pulled away, but he was still ridiculously close, his eyes a brilliant blue in the firelight. Emma sucked in a breath, a jolt of electricity surging up her spine. 

 

His face was open and warm, his smile easy and genuine, and it made her heart skip. It had been doing its fair share of gymnastics lately. It took her a moment to recognize how smoothly they were moving, Killian leading them easily back and forth, around and around, in perfect time to the stringed instruments. 

 

“This is going much better,” Emma said, looking down at her feet for a second as if they belonged to someone else. 

 

“ _ I  _ know what I'm doing,” Killian grinned at her, sweeping her into another twirl that had her hair flying back. She gasped and laughed as he pulled her back in again, the lines of his body flush with her own for just an instant before they were waltzing again. 

 

“And where did you learn this?” Emma said, her grin threatening to split her face. “Not very piratey.”

 

“Ship’s cook,” Killian said, without embarrassment. He turned them again. “When I was a lad. Insisted it would win me the favor of all the ladies. Had me waltzing all over the bloody galley. The crew teased me for months.” 

 

Emma laughed at the disgruntled expression on his face at the memory. The picture of a small teenage version of him waltzing with a portly cook. 

 

“And did it work?” Emma teased. “Did you win the favor of “all the ladies”?”

 

Killian face turned serious for a moment, his eyes burning into her own. Her lips parted at the intensity in them, breathless once more, blood thundering in her ears as the music fell away. When he spoke again his voice was soft.

 

“I suppose you’ll have to let me know.” 

 

______

 

Roland’s head lolled on Killian’s shoulder, a tiny sleep still face pressed into the curve of his neck, eyelashes impossibly long on a tiny cheek, arms dangling over leather clad shoulders. It made something warm and full rise in her chest again as they paraded down the moonlit beach, her arms full of their clothing, marching towards the waiting ship.

 

The King had insisted they sleep in the village, promising warm beds close at hand, no exhausted travel across the beach required. Killian had declined immediately, and she couldn't blame him. Sheep lying among the lions. He had heaved the sleeping boy easily into his arms like picking up a pillow, and left Emma to thank the gathered villagers for their hospitality, a sleepy eyed Grace and Henry falling into line without protest. 

 

They tucked them into cozy bunks, all three asleep before they pulled the blankets to their necks, a lantern casting the ship on a homey glow. She smoothed hair from their tired faces and wondered if she should kiss them asleep. 

 

She stared at them, her heart wrenching in her chest as she thought of the impossible promise she had made, and the day that was looming on the horizon. The day when they would go, sent somewhere she couldn't follow. Despite herself she knew she would miss them terribly. Tears prickled her eyes, chest hollow, and she smoothed one more curl from Roland’s forehead.

 

She looked to Killian, holding the lantern from the doorway, not wanting to intrude, and the sharp pang beneath her ribs told her she would probably miss him too. She pushed the thought aside and forced a shaky smile, following him back to the Captain’s cabin.

 

He was silent as he poured them drinks, not asking just seeming to know, his fingers deftly removing the cap one handed, tilting amber liquid into the waiting tin mugs. 

 

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said collapsing wide legged into the chair across from her.

 

“I'm not thinking about anything,” Emma said quickly, the raised eyebrow, the curving tilt of his mouth and blue eyed stared told her he didn't believe her.

 

She took a drink, avoiding his gaze, looking at the ceiling and willing the tears back into her eyeballs. The smirk dropped, face softening. 

 

“Love,” he said softly, that endearment again, zipping across her shoulders, settling on her spine, it made her squirm in her seat. “Something is troubling you, and it's not this place, those people or infernal sea monsters.” 

 

It took her a moment to answer, voice rough.

 

“I told them I would do this,” Emma said softly after a moment, her voice too loud in the quiet cabin, the only other sounds the waves lapping at the shore. The ship was still on the beach, discomforting with its lack of sway. 

 

Killian was quiet for a moment, frowning down at his mug. He took an agitated sip.

 

“It’s too risky,” he said after a moment more of silence. Anger roared to life in her chest. He held up a placating hand. “I'm just being logical Swan.” He said after a moment, his voice edged in concern she didn't want. “That beast would rip you limb from limb and then what would they do?”

 

She knew he had a point. She wasn't much, but at the moment she was all they had. Until they returned home, back to institutions and strange foster families, new rules and the constant sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not good enough. Unwanted. Too difficult. 

 

Emma took another drink. 

 

“Perhaps there's another way,” Killian said gently, as kindly as he could. It grated on her nerves. 

 

“What way?” She scoffed. Killian shrugged.

 

“I have no doubt you’ll find one. I've seen you determined,” he cast an eye above to the roof of his ship, seeing through it to the deck above. 

 

“I don't want to send them back to nothing,” Emma said firmly, finishing her drink with a one last gulp, alcohol searing her throat on the way down. 

 

“You won’t,” Killian insisted, trying again. She ignored him, anger and helplessness beating out any gratitude for his unwavering faith. 

 

“Where am I sleeping?” She asked finally, exhaustion winning out.

 

“My bed,” he motioned towards the narrow bunk in his room. Emma balked. 

 

Killian rolled his eyes, standing up to press a warm hand firmly to her back, hot through the thin fabric of her borrowed dress, and pushed her towards it. “Alone. I'll sleep on deck. Keep watch.” He patted his sword.

 

“Alone?” She looked at him again, surprised by the offer.

 

“You're welcome to keep me company,” he winked at her. “Might be cold up there.” The flirty devil grin was back and she rolled her eyes. 

 

“I think your giant coat will manage just fine,” she said wryly. He tsked, like it was a pity, but moved towards the ladder.

 

“Thank you for a most enjoyable evening, Emma Swan,” he swept a low exaggerated bow at her from across the room.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” she smiled though, shaking her head, the threat of tears forgotten as he grinned at her. She watched him turn, his long legs disappearing up the ladder to the deck above.

 

Emma sighed as she settled into the bed, straining to hear him on the deck above, worry turning her stomach, worry for him alone up there unknown threats in the darkness, worry for the children asleep in their beds, worry for her fragile raw heart and what would eventually happen to it.

 

She stared, wide awake at the ceiling, wondering what she should do. 

 

____

 

Morning sun slanted into the room, and the smell of cooking and the sounds of laughter had her jolting awake, fumbling for the drawer of her bedside table where she kept her gun. Her hand met plain painted wood, no knob, and she looked down at it bewildered. 

 

Right. Pirate ship. Another realm. Not her cozy Storybrooke home at all. There was another peal of laughter from somewhere on the ship and she blinked in confusion. 

 

As if she had summoned them a parade of mostly smiling children burst into the room from the door across the way. Roland carried a basket of what looked to be bread, almost spilling it as he tipped it up into the table. Next came Grace, trusted with two pitchers, one a tarnished silver, the other white ceramic. She grinned at Emma, looking back and frowning slightly as Henry came in, his nose buried in a book. Killian followed after, balancing a tray on one arm, steam rising up from the contents.

 

“What’s that?” Emma asked groggily, self consciously smoothing a hand over her hair, surreptitiously brushing sleep from her eyes. She must look awful, and here he was marching into her bedroom as fresh as a daisy, cheeks tinged red, eyes twinkling despite where he had spent the night.

 

“Breakfast,” he said cheerfully. “Fit for a Princess,” he set it carefully on the table. Emma's nose wrinkled faintly in distaste at the small white pieces of fish on the platter, appeased slightly by the much more reasonable fruit. 

 

“How?” Emma’s brain was struggling to catch up.

 

“The miracle of propane,” Killian said with a wink. “The last of it I'm afraid, I didn't have a chance to refill, given our abrupt departure.”

 

“This is nice,” Emma said surprised. 

 

“There’s coffee and tea,” Grace declared proudly. “I made it myself.” Killian gave Emma a look over the girl’s head that said she’d be best to stick to water. Henry settled into a chair, his face troubled, turning a page in his book.

 

“Killian has donuts!” Roland said excitedly. Killian shook his head. 

 

“Croissants, lad,” he said, apologetically as the boy’s face fell, nose wrinkling. “They might be a bit stale actually.” 

 

“I'm sure they’re fine,” Emma’s heart filled with that strange warmth again, as he moved about the cabin gathering up mismatched dishes and utensils.

 

“Henry?” Emma asked cautiously, noticing he was the only one not smiling, the only one not joining in on the morning breakfast preparations. “Everything okay?”

 

Henry looked up, still frowning.

 

“I don't think Arthur was telling us the truth,” he said after a moment.

 

“About the kraken?” She looked at Killian, who was taut with interest, the plates and forks forgotten on the table. 

 

“No,” Henry shook his head and turned the book towards her. She squinted, an elaborate portrait on the paper she could barely make out. She swung her legs from the bed, smoothing her hair one more time, flicking a self conscious glance at Killian as she took the book from the boy. 

 

It was a painting, or a reproduction of one, a man who looked remarkably like their royal host, embracing a stunning woman from behind. A woman wearing the exact same dress Emma currently wore.

 

“I don't think Arthur’s a descendent of the people who used to lived here,” Henry said grimly. “The ones who misused the Sands. I think he IS one of them.” 

 

“But that's impossible,” Emma said. “It’s been centuries.” The man in the picture was the spitting image, and the dress was exactly the same, down to the smallest golden threads. 

 

“I know but I'm sure it's him,” Henry said. “The book we found with the Sands in it references this one.” He held up the cover which said A History of Camelot in boldly elaborate script. “I didn't notice at first because they called it The Broken Kingdom in that one, but I found it this morning when I was looking for a way to get past The Beast. I think he’s  _ the  _ King Arthur.”

 

Killian took the book from him, studying the image. 

 

“There is a strong likeness,” he said after a moment. 

 

“That's why he tried to get the Sands so badly,” Henry said. “He’s the one who got them taken away.” He took the book back from Killian, and flipped a few pages.

 

“It says they were a gift from the wizard Merlin-” Killian snorted in derision as the word wizard, obviously not his favorite people. “-to repair the realm and build a utopia for his people after a tireless crusade against dark forces. A reward.” 

 

Emma sat down carefully, her stomach growling. She scooped some fruit on her plate, uneasy as Henry read. 

 

“And then what happened?” Grace asked, helping Roland onto his seat, he was already shoving mango into his mouth. 

 

“The Queen fell in love with one of his knights apparently, they ran off together. Arthur had her captured, used the Sands to keep her with him. Enslaved her.” Henry looked up eyes wide in horror at the thought.

 

“That certainly explains why no one would talk to us about her,” Emma said. 

 

“When Merlin found out he punished him, sent the Sands to the bottom of the sea and set a beast to guard them so they couldn't be used for evil ever again.” Henry kept reading. 

 

“The Kraken,” Emma said unnecessarily.

 

“Merlin freed Guinevere-” Henry looked up, “-that’s the Queen. He freed her and took her and anyone who wished with him, leaving Arthur and those loyal to him behind.”

 

“Well that explains the creep factor,” Emma said. Killian nodded in agreement. 

 

“I think he wants to use us to get the Sands,” Henry said. “That's why he’s being so nice. We have a ship so he can try again.” Henry looked up fiercely. “We can't let Arthur get his hands on them. No matter what.” 

 

“We won't,” Emma reassured, it was all clicking into place. The weird villagers, Arthur’s disingenuous charm, the edge to his expressions. She looked at Henry proudly. “Good work, kid. We knew there was something  _ weird _ about him but this explains a lot. Not how he looks so fresh after a few hundred years…but a lot.”

 

“Some lands have magic that prevents you from growing older,” Killian offered. “The curse of eternity.”

 

“Well that doesn't sound so bad,” Emma’s thoughts flickered to Ingrid. “Living forever.”

 

“It’s not all it appears to be, I assure you,” he said grimly. 

 

“Well it's obvious it's not safe here,” Emma looked apologetically to Henry. “Who knows what he’ll do. A few hundred years of desperation is not something I want to tangle with.” 

 

To his credit and her surprise the boy nodded without argument, obviously upset, but perhaps realizing they were out of their depth, facing both a sea monster and some kind of people enslaving psycho. He seemed shaken by the thought, his face troubled. They had dined with the man, danced with him. It was a strange thought that underneath the charming smile was a man who could do something so horrible to another human being. A man who could take away free will and choice with nary a thought. 

 

Killian flopped into a chair across from her, that splayed legged lazy posture she'd come to recognize filling up half the room. He popped a small red berry into his mouth. 

 

“Let’s discuss strategy,” he said after a moment.

 

“Strategy?” Emma looked up in surprise almost dropping her fork.

 

“To get the Sands,” he said slowly, looking at her as if she were daft. “Preferably without that tosser knowing about it.” 

 

“You still want to try and get them?” Her eyes goggled at him in shock, mouth dropping open. The kids were equally as surprised, except Roland who was too busy eating to listen to discussions about their lunatic host. Henry barely suppressed a delighted noise of triumph. 

 

Emma frowned at Killian, anger rising in her chest that he was giving the boy hope again. It wasn't right to lead him on that way. There were far too many of Arthur’s people to fend them all off. Not to mention the giant sea monster.

 

“Well,” he said casually, leaning even further back in his chair. “We came all this way.” 

 

“You said last night it was impossible,” Emma accused. 

 

“I said it was risky,” Killian corrected. “And it is, but I'm certain if we put our heads together we can come up with something. Preferably quickly.”

 

“What about a disguise?” Roland offered, mouth full. They all looked at him confused as he chewed and swallowed.

 

“A disguise?” Emma asked. 

 

“Yeah, to get past the monster,” Roland said reasonably as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Sneak past it like a ninja.” 

 

“A ninja,” Killian said dubiously.

 

“Or a pirate,” Roland amended, perhaps thinking he had offended him.

 

“That's a nice idea,” Emma said kindly to the boy with a soft smile. “But I think it would notice. Arthur said it could sense people.” 

 

“People,” Grace said thoughtfully. “But not animals.”  Henry picked up on her train of thought instantly, looking at their breakfast of fish and fruit excitedly. Emma and Killian glanced at each other and then back to the children confused.

 

“Fish could get past it,” Henry said, his voice rising with renewed enthusiasm.

 

“Fish,” Killian said flatly. 

 

Emma had a sinking feeling she knew where they were going with this. She looked to Killian helplessly, but he just looked baffled and a bit like he was wondering if the children were insane. 

 

“Can you do it?” Henry asked her, his eyes alight with hope and trust. Emma floundered, mouth opening and closing uselessly.

 

“Can you do what?” Killian asked impatiently, his eyes snapping to hers. 

 

“Turn us into fish!” Roland said bouncing in his seat, also catching on. “With her magic!”

 

“Oh bloody hell,” Killian scrubbed his hand across his face. 

 

“No,” Emma said firmly, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.” 

 

She ignored the crestfallen look on Henry’s face, stubbornly avoiding the flame of hope extinguishing rapidly in his eyes. There was no way. It was too dangerous. Her magic too unpredictable, and the monster had far too many teeth for her liking. It was also the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.

 

There was a tense silence for a moment. 

 

“Can you even do that?” Killian asked, his voice thoughtful, contemplating. “I thought perhaps you just did monkeys.”

 

Emma gave him a look usually reserved for the deranged or insane, her eyes wide with disbelief that he was even continuing this conversation, that he was entertaining a plan thought up by a 5 year old and two pre-teens.

 

“It doesn't matter if I  _ can _ do it,” Emma snapped. “I'm not going to.”

 

“But theoretically,” he tried again. “Could you?”

 

“I don't know,” she huffed, exasperated. “I guess. I just think of the animal and say the spell.”

 

“And when you looked at me you thought  _ monkey _ ?” Killian asked incredulously, his face going from curious to outraged in a blink. 

 

“I don’t know!” Emma threw her hands up, feeling like she was rapidly losing control of this situation. “It was the first thing I thought of. Monkeys are cute, I don’t know.” She repeated.

 

“So you looked at me and thought cute,” he seemed marginally appeased by that. Emma scowled at him over the table. 

 

“It lasted about what, ten minutes in your realm?” Killian said thoughtfully. “But your magic is stronger here. Presumably it could last longer.”

 

“No,” Emma repeated firmly. “It's _too_ _dangerous_.” 

 

“For you and the children, yes,” Killian agreed. He held up his hand to silence their protests without looking at them, waving it impatiently for silence. Their mouths snapped shut. 

 

“What do you mean for me?” Emma asked affronted, immediately defensive. She was just as capable as him. 

 

“Someone has to cast the spell, love,” he reminded her.

 

“I'm not casting _any_ _spell_ ,” Emma threw up her hands in exasperation, she wasn't giving into this madness. “It's not happening. Forget it.” 

 

“Emma,” Killian said seriously, his tone had her looking up, those blue eyes burning into her own. “The creature can sense humans. It would destroy this ship in moments if we tried. The boy is right, we would need a disguise to fool it, and we just so happen to have someone here who can provide one. How many people could say the same?” He leaned back in his chair. “And we have a volunteer to do it.” He laid his hook on his chest. 

 

Raw panic clawed into her throat. She had never done such a thing before, not when so much was at stake. She thought of her feeble attempts back home in her shed, her half successful tries to make the spells work, and shook her head. 

 

“I can't,” she said softly. She still couldn't look at Henry. Couldn't look at Grace or Roland. She could only look at Killian, at those blue, blue eyes, which crinkled and softened, a small smile tilting his lips at her. 

  
“You can.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion.

“This is the worst idea you've ever had,” Emma called down to him from the deck of the ship, the children twined around the railing looking down at him excitedly. He stood knee deep in the water, his long coat floating on the surface, moving with the waves.

 

“You haven't known me long,” he called back up to her. “I can assure you it's not.” 

 

“I really,  _ really _ don't like this plan,” she reminded him.

 

“I'm more than aware, but we have limited time and limited options, so can we  _ please _ stop yelling and letting the whole bloody realm know what we’re up to?” 

 

Emma sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm her rapidly firing nerves, ignore the twisting in her stomach that screamed that this was a terrible, terrible idea. 

 

He smiled up at her reassuringly, giving her a small nod. From his hook dangled the unused oil lamp from the hold below, glinting gold in the sun, looking as if a genie would issue forth from it at any moment. It would honestly be the least weird thing that had happened to them lately. 

 

Emma took another deep steadying breath, holding out her hands, closing her eyes for the words of the spell, holding the picture of what she wanted in her mind. She tried to push all thoughts of him drowning, dying, being eaten by a terrifying sea creature aside and focus on what she needed, the animal she had in mind, no better choice for the man before her. 

 

The sharp spark of power roared through her blood, so much more potent and just  _ more _ in this realm of magic. It emboldened her slightly, this could really work. No this  _ would _ work, the alternative wasn't an option. 

 

Below her Killian closed his eyes, wincing slightly in trepidation as she began to speak the words aloud. An electric shock of energy issued forth, a billowing cloud of white blue smoke enveloping him, and when she blinked down at him again, Killian was no longer there, a huge navy shadow in the water instead, longer than Killian had ever been tall.

 

A huge, shimmering swordfish, its dorsal fin protruding from the water like a shark, swam in a large arcing circle by the ship where Killian had stood, building up momentum, and then it burst from the water in a shimmering spray, the lamp gleaming as bright as the droplets running down its flank, arcing in a smooth crescent before disappearing back into the bay.

 

He was telling her he was okay. He was letting her know it had worked. She could feel it, as she watched the massive shape pivot and swim away, out into the sea towards The Sands and The Kraken.

 

She let out a breath, her hands shaking, feeling sick and anxious as she watched him go. Roland reached up taking her hand in his own. 

 

“He’ll be fine, swordfishes are awesome,” the boy said wisely. 

 

“He’s very brave,” Grace observed, hiding a hand over her eyes to block the sun so she could see the fish better, growing smaller and smaller as the distance increased.

 

“Yes,” Emma whispered, almost breathless, heart soaring. Doing those gymnastics again.  “Very brave.” 

 

“Dead, is a word I would use,” said a clipped accented voice from behind them.

 

Emma whirled, shoving the children behind her as Arthur landed with a dull thud of boots on the deck. He was dressed bizarrely, a sickly yellow orange  jumpsuit, covered in straps and copper rivets, obscured his form, a heavy helmet under one arm, a vicious looking harpoon gun under the other. 

 

Behind him heavily armored soldiers began fanning out, swords drawn, surrounding them in a half moon formation that left them no option of escape except to leap over the rail into the sea.

 

Arthur grinned at her, all charm and white teeth, his eyes flashing dangerously. 

 

Emma swallowed, clutching tightly at Roland’s trembling hand, her other going desperately to her waist, but her sword was in the cabin below, her gun a realm away. 

 

“Take the children,” Arthur ordered, waving his hand almost boredly, still holding the helmet and gun under his arms. The guards moved forward en masse, a wall of plate armor and expressionless faces. Emma braced herself, putting her body between them and the children, ready to fight. But there were far too many, her fists ringing painfully which each blow against the metal, the force vibrating up her leg as she kicked at them.

 

Grace screamed as one of them grabbed her around the waist, hauling her up bodily, her legs bicycling in terror as she thrashed, trying to get free. Henry threw his book at the face of one of the guards, spinning it like a frisbee and ducked low under a reaching arm, trying to squirm away. There were still more waiting though, and they grabbed him by the ankle, dragging him painfully across the wooden deck back to the mass of soldiers.

 

One of the guards wrenched her to the side, an iron grip on her arm, and Roland leapt forward pulling away from her clutching hand. Emma tried to drag him back but her arms were yanked painfully behind her, her shoulders screaming in protest. 

 

The tiny boy lurched fiercely forward, his teeth sinking into the flesh and fabric of a nearby leg, hanging on for a moment like a small feral dog. The man howled, trying to simultaneously grab the boy and shake him off. Roland let go, nimbly avoiding the grasping hands, until Arthur reached out, snagging the child by his borrowed vest, the tip of the harpoon dangerously close to his face, and shoved him forcefully into the chest of a waiting soldier. The man clamped his arms around the squirming boy with ease, locking him in place. 

 

“Please, don't,” Emma could barely breathe terror had seized her so tightly, she pulled against the tight grip of the men holding her, uselessly stamping her foot down on heavy metal clad boots. 

 

“Take them to the beach,” Arthur said impassively. “Await my instructions.” They obeyed, obedient little lapdogs, dragging the children away, hissing and screeching, their feet scraping across the deck. They disappeared over the side with their captors, one after another. Her heart gave a painful snapping lurch with each one.

 

“Emma!” Henry cried out, his voice breaking with fear. 

 

Emma's eyes burned, rage and frustration twisting her face as she yanked, pulled and kicked, trying whatever she could to get back to them. There were too many, at least four large men, rock solid and immovable staying behind to hold her down. Arthur stared at her from across the deck, eyes wide and deranged, his lips tilted in an amused smile at her struggles. She wanted to rip his face off, tear him limb from limb, break each of his tooth straight white teeth one by one.

 

“Now,  _ witch _ ,” Arthur said lowly, slinking closer. “You are going to do everything I say, or one word from me and I’ll shut those little brats up forever.” He had leaned down her level, unfortunately just out of reach of her head, his breath hot and sickly sweet on her face.

 

“Please,” Emma tried again, a different tact this time, her voice desperate and broken. “Please, don't hurt them.”

 

“That depends entirely on your cooperation,” Arthur warned reasonably. He looked speculatively up at the sails, surveying the ship with distaste. 

 

“What do you want?” Emma could still hear the shrieking cries of the children on the beach as they struggled, growing fainter as they were taken further and further away. Panic swelled in her chest. 

 

“Not much,” Arthur said. “I want this ship.” 

 

“You can have it,” Emma said quickly, knowing in her heart Killian wouldn't object, not really, not if it meant the children were safe. She may not know him well, but she knew that to her very bones, he would readily give up his home to save their lives.

 

“I'm not finished yet,” Arthur snapped. “And you. I need you to do whatever you did to move it before.” 

 

Emma swallowed.

 

“Where do you want to go?” She asked, already knowing the answer. 

 

“Why the same direction as your leather clad lover,” he motioned out into the bay with the harpoon. “I want to see The Beast.” 

 

“But you said,” Emma swallowed some of the terror, straightening up, shoulders back. “You said it couldn't be defeated.” 

 

“And it can't,” Arthur said cheerfully. He held up the odd helmet under his arm, a diving bell, the kind in old movies and museums. “But it can be distracted, and destroying this ship should serve well enough for that I think.” 

 

“But why?” Emma shook her head confused. “Killian is getting the Sands right now. He’ll give them to you, I know he will.” 

 

“You expect me to believe that? ‘We can't let Arthur get his hands on them, no matter what’, “ Arthur echoed, his voice high pitched and mocking. 

 

Emma reeled back at Henry’s words coming verbatim out of his mouth. 

 

“How-?” She let the question trail off. He stepped forward, his hand reaching out, grabbing the seashell necklace around her throat, and pulling down with a hard snap. Her neck burned as it broke, the cord scraping her skin, and she stifled a cry, gritting her teeth. 

 

“A little bit of mermaid magic,” his teeth flashed white as he looked at it. “Very useful, a reluctant gift from some visitors awhile back. Much like this suit. Pity their ship didn't survive the trip, it would have been quite useful.” He glared at her, his eyes icy. “I heard every word.” 

 

He leaned back into her face, sneering. 

 

“And I know that _you_ _know_ who I am, and I also know that you know what the Sands can do, and I won't give that thieving pirate _scum_ the opportunity to use them against me.” He spat the words, his face ugly with disdain. Emma reared back trying to put some distance between them.

 

“But you have hostages,” Emma argued. “You have us right where you want us. He’ll negotiate.”

 

“And I should what, let you go? Let you turn the rest of my village against me?” He shook his head. “No. I don't think so.” He pointed up at the sails, all business. “Move the ship.” 

 

“No,” Emma glared at him defiantly, nostrils flaring.

 

“Move the ship or I will kill your children one by one, right in front of you. I was going to spare them, use the sands to ensure their silence, but if you insist” he said cheerfully and grinned. “We’ll start with the smallest I think, less mess if you change your mind.” He turned, half raising a hand to signal the waiting men on the beach.

 

“No! Wait!” Emma sagged. “Okay, okay I just need a second.” 

 

“Tick, tock witch. No use stalling for time. I know you expect the pirate to return any moment,” he held up the harpoon gun, the tip glinting dangerously. “I have a little gift for him if he does. So if you want him to live you’ll be quick about it.” 

 

She thought of Killian, vulnerable in his current form, unaware that anything was amiss, believing they had the upper hand, that they still held the element of surprise. The wicked edges of the spear would slice through him with no issue, unprotected and unaware, human or not. She let out a little noise of frustration.

 

“Fine. Let me go,” she barked at her captors. They looked to the king who nodded his assent and then she was free, four swords pointed squarely at her. 

 

“Get on with it,” he gestured impatiently.

 

Emma raised a trembling hand, her fingers clenching. She could still hear the kids yelling for her from the beach, broken cries of her name and desperate angry pleas to let them go. She closed her eyes, one tear streaking down her cheek, and began to speak the words.

 

_____  

 

It was less intense this time, her heart not in it, but the golden glow flew from her fingertips regardless, enveloping the ship from top to bottom in a trickle of magic, everything glowing and shimmering. The guards gasped, stepping back a bit in awe and Arthur grinned a manic grin.

 

The ship creaked and groaned as it slid across the sand, tilting sharply to the side, water crashing around the hull as it plunged from the beach back into the sea. Emma took a breath still chanting, fingers warm and prickling from the intensity of her magic, the ship turning as she willed, pointing out into the ocean once again. Ropes twisted of their own accord, and the sails filled with air, snapping backwards as the wind picked up. The ship moved faster. 

 

One by one the guards leapt from the sides, faces fearful, splashing into the sea with fearful cries, a pre-planned abandon ship before they got to close to the monster. She hoped they drowned.

 

It was just her and Arthur then, her eyes burning with hate, his with glee as he pointed the harpoon squarely at her chest. She moved to turn her focus, turn her magic on him, the ropes lifting to her command, but he tutted.

 

“If I do not return my men are under strict orders to kill them,” Arthur yelled casually over the the whipping wind. “Make one move against me Emma and they’re as good as dead.” 

 

He motioned back up to the sails, and Emma kept going, closing her eyes as they came closer and closer to where the crystal clear water became darker, a thin line of gradient blue marking the point of no return.

 

“Stop! Stop!” Arthur commanded. She lowered her hands, trembling with effort and unchecked anger. She clenched her fists. The sails dropped, hanging limp and useless, the ropes landing with dull thuds on the deck. 

 

The ship rocked and swayed in ominous silence, creaking and groaning on the sea.

 

Arthur peered over the railing into the black waters below. 

 

They were silent, and still. 

 

Emma’s heart thudded painfully in her chest, marking the seconds of silence, stretching out tense and cold as they bobbed uselessly along. 

 

“Perhaps The Beast is busy enjoying a pirate sized meal,” Arthur speculated cheerfully, donning his helmet, checking the thick rubber tubes from the metal tanks in his back, his eyes never leaving her, the harpoon pointed at her with deadly intent.

 

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the ship gave a massive lurch, pitching them both to the deck. Emma’s hands slapped painfully on the wood. Arthur rolled, barely catching himself, and staggered to his feet.

 

“Right on time,” she heard him declare in a hollow echo from inside the helmet just as the monster gave a deafening shriek. The sound tore through the air, her stomach jolting in fear, a thousand tiny hairs rising on her neck and arms. 

 

“This is where I leave you, Emma,” Arthur nodded to her as the ship lurched again, his rubber gloved hand grabbing onto the rail just in time to keep him from pitching into the deck. A slick dark tentacle rose into the air, towering above them, at least a hundred feet high. Arthur cried out as it slammed into the deck, just inches from him, wood splintering and spraying. 

 

Emma fell backwards onto her ass, scrambling away as it whipped and probed, writhinglike a giant python. She looked frantically to Arthur. She couldn't let him escape.

 

The shipped rocked again as Arthur climbed to his feet, readying himself to climb the rail but Emma was faster, the words coming easily, leaving her lips in a rush, adrenaline shooting through her as she chanted. The ship glowed gold again, tried to move, but the monster was stronger, four more humongous tentacles hugging it close, the wood cracking and snapping under the force of its grip.

 

A golden hued rope snaked out, lashing itself around Arthur’s leg, holding him in place. He cursed and kicked at it, trying to reach the railing. Emma moved her hand again, another rope surging down, grabbing him by the arm. The harpoon dropped uselessly onto the deck, skittering close. She couldn't afford to grab it though, she had to keep trying to free the ship, had to stop Arthur. She kept chanting, her teeth chattering as cold sea water rained down on them from above. Another rope lashed him to the rail, holding him in place, yet another coming forward to twine with the first. The ship just knew what to do, even as it broke apart it helped her.  Arthur screamed at her, voice muffled and distorted by the metal helmet, red faced and enraged in the small grated window of the dome. 

 

The Beast shrieked again, that unnatural cry that set her teeth on edge, twisting tentacles swinging wildly. One struck the mast and to her horror it snapped cleanly in two, as easy as breaking a twig. Emma barely got out of the way as the massive column crashed onto the deck, the planks buckling and breaking under the force. Her concentration shattered, the golden glow fading as she stumbled over the words, trying to remain upright, her magic petering out. 

 

She was going to die. 

 

The noise and roar of the breaking ship, the shrieks of the beast, and the raining water was deafening as she tried to reach the rail, if she could get herself overboard, get into the water perhaps she could make it to shore. 

 

It was a long shot but it was her only shot. 

 

She reached out as the world tilted, the deck caving in the middle, a smooth slide straight into the creature’s gaping mouth. She looked down in horror at several rings of teeth and slime rotating below her. She shrieked, her feet scrambling against the deck and braced herself against gravity, her fingers barely grasping a rung of the rail as the ship crumbled and fell apart around her. 

 

Across the deck she could see Arthur’s orange yellow form struggling against the knotted ropes, helmet lost, hair matted to his reddened, terrified face. Emma turned away, pulling herself up with all the strength she possessed, the wood slick, her feet dangling as the deck rose higher and higher, the ship sinking lower and lower as the demon  _ consumed,  _ wood and sail and rope disappearing into its maw, folding the ship in half.

 

She closed her eyes again, her voice lost in the din as she desperately chanted, focusing her magic inward, her fingers too busy holding on for dear life to focus the spell. She had no idea if it would work, but she tried anyway, speaking faster and faster, stumbling over the syllables as her voice shook with terror, the sharp gnashing teeth getting closer and closer as the deck disappeared one gnash at a time.

 

She heard Arthur’s desperate terrified screams even over the noise, and blocked it out, speaking faster.

 

It started slowly, a buzzing in her limbs, a warm glow like trickling water moving over her body. She glowed gold, feeling weightless as she rose, her hands releasing the deck as her body lifted into the air.

 

It was working. She wanted to scream in delight.

 

Emma chanted faster, desperately, her body hanging suspended in the air, the ship a mass of unidentifiable blue and yellow boards now, Arthur gone. She closed her eyes and willed herself higher, willed herself closer to shore. 

 

A whipping tentacle lashed out, flying through the air. It struck her squarely in the back, pain lancing through her and Emma fell like a rock, down, down into the water below.  

 

_____

 

The sea was icy cold, a million needles jabbing at her skin as she swirled and tumbled in the churn. Her lungs burned, eyes wide in terror as she kicked her legs, trying to find which way was up. Everything was black fog, no light broke through here, and debris swirled in the water around her. 

 

She stretched herself upwards, hands reaching, saying a silent prayer that this was up, that she was just a few moments away from breaking the surface. Red rimmed her eyes, her vision growing narrower and blacker as her mouth opened, body straining against the need to suck in air, knowing she'd only fill her lungs with sea water instead if she did. She made small desperate whimpers, kicking fiercely, fighting against the swirling water.

 

Something flashed in her periphery and she cried out, her scream nothing more than muted noise and bubbles as something dark and silvery streaked by her. The kraken. 

 

She screamed again desperately, a gurgling cry, her legs working harder, arms flailing, trying to get away as her vision narrowed further, red and black taking over as her oxygen ran out, as her consciousness fled.

 

Something large and hard struck her side, sharp burning pain glancing across her ribs, but she barely registered it over the pain of not breathing, her senses dulling with each second that passed, and then she was rising, lifting, her arm draped across rough cold flesh and scales.

 

She surged through the water, the mass propelling her upwards, and then they broke the surface with a spray of salty water, and the shriek of her gasping air back into her burning lungs. She panted, and gulped in more and more precious oxygen, wrenching sobs of terror joining the tears streaking down her cheeks. Her side burned, cloudy muted red blood filling the water. 

 

The shape circled again, pressing into her, gentler this time, still too hard but familiar and beautiful. 

 

“Killian,” she sobbed out, recognizing him. 

 

Across the water the monster shrieked. 

 

The fish that was Killian swam away, turning in a wide arc, and gracelessly rammed into her side again, her arm reaching around to clutch a spiny fin, the scales cutting into her fingers and arm as he pulled her quick as he could through the water.

 

The monster shrieked, a surge of water as it moved pushing them faster forward, but the land grew closer and closer with every passing second. She glanced behind her, massive tentacles waved in the sky, a giant bulbous head sinking beneath the waves, nothing left of the beautiful ship but debris. 

 

She wanted to apologize, to tell him she was sorry, but she was unsure if he would hear her, unsure if he would even understand as he swam them closer and closer to the shore.

 

The form under her shifted, seemed to melt away, rough scales shrinking, morphing, becoming warm flesh and leather. She released the fin, kicking herself away in the water, watching fascinated as pale sky blue smoke enveloped the creature, a man breaking the surface of the water with a gasp an instant later.

 

He clutched the golden lamp to his chest with his hook, legs kicking, his arm treading the water. He looked disoriented and afraid for an instant, hair plastered to his beautiful  _ human _ face. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and sob, but there was no time. They had to get to shore, get away from the creature and back to the children.

 

“Emma?” He looked at her bewildered for a second, reaching out automatically.

 

“The kids,” she gasped out, straining to keep afloat, her legs moving constantly, treading the icy water. He nodded, teeth chattering and reached out, looping her arm over his shoulder. She wasn't a weak swimmer, but Killian was better, a life at sea giving him an edge as he helped move them agonizingly slowly to shore.

 

The bay was silent behind them as they swam, the monster sated for now. 

 

____

  
  


They skulked along the shore line, staying close to the line of the brush. Killian’s sword was out, the lamp safely in the pocket of his coat. Emma limped along beside him, a large rock in her hand, the only weapon she could find on such short notice, her other hand pressed to her burning side. 

 

Killian cut his eyes to her, frowning, air hissing between his teeth. 

 

“I'm so sorry love,” he whispered and reached out, his sword hand hovering over the wound. “I couldn't gauge….” he trailed off, face pinched in anguish that he had hurt her. Emma forced a smile.

 

“It’s not your fault, you were trying to help me,” she said softly and grabbed his wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You saved me. It's not very deep, just a scratch.” 

 

He didn't seem comforted by that, but there was no time to press further. 

 

“There’s at least six of them,” Emma hissed as they crept closer. “Big guys, armor, swords. The whole deal.”

 

“Won’t be a problem,” his voice was low with murderous rage, teeth clenched. He was seething mad, his eyes glancing every so often to the wound at her side, her limping gait, her body one big bruise. “I'm going to kill him.” He breathed out. 

 

“I think you’re a bit late,” Emma said. “The squid thing kind of ate him.” She thankfully hadn’t seen said eating, but she doubted she would forget the agonized screams over splintering wood any time soon.

 

“Good.” That pretty much summed up her feelings as well. They moved quickly along the shore, rounding the curve of the island, back to the same shore where the ship had been.

  
  


What awaited them was not at all what Emma was expecting. Instead of half a dozen guards and three terrified captive children she was met with the rapidly moving forms of Henry, Grace, and a struggling Roland, running towards them across the sand. 

 

Behind them four men clanked and clanged, giving chase, their heavy armor slowing them down, their faces enraged.

 

“Emma!” Roland cried desperately, spotting her. He almost tripped and stumbled but Henry and Grace had firm holds on his arms, pulling him along. 

 

Killian roared forward, his sword and hook out, veering around the children to come head on at the approaching guards.

 

Emma stopped briefly, running her free hand along their hair and faces, resolving to ask what happened later, and then followed him into the fray. 

 

He moved like liquid lightning, his sodden coat billlowing out behind him, his face twisted in rage. His sword clanged, a booted foot kicking one guard into another, firmly planted in the plate armor of his chest. They fell in a tangle of bodies, another guard swinging wide to avenge them. He caught the sword with his hook, twisting his wrist. The sword flew, landing in the sand and Emma grabbed it, holding it before her. 

 

Further up the beach two more guards limped in their direction. She swung the sword wide like a baseball bat, the flat connecting solidly with the metal chest of the fourth, pain vibrating up her arm from the force, her side burned but she pushed it away, focusing on the men before her. 

 

Killian sent the pommel of his sword straight into a waiting guard’s temple, the man's helmet buried in the sand where he had fallen, ducking just in time to avoid the swinging sword of the other. It was pretty amazing to watch, all grace and speed and confidence, her heart pounded, but there was no time to admire his form, she swung out again, wild uneducated strokes, one of the guards backing away at her crazy unpredictability.

 

“Emma, your magic!” Henry screamed from behind her. 

 

“My magic,” she breathed, suddenly remembering, her arms feeling weak and rubbery. “Right. I have that.” 

 

She closed her eyes briefly, metal clanging in her ear, panting breaths and angry grunts. Killian roared again. She opened her eyes, the words there again and spoke them in a rush, electricity zipping down her arm.

 

There was another whirl of smoke, first one than the other, one by one, pinkish red clouds filling the air. 

 

In an instant six chittering chattering monkeys appeared on the sand, one barely dodging the swing of Killian’s sword. He overbalanced at the unexpected change in his assailant, his sword dropping into the sand. He looked at them baffled for a moment as they scrambled away, shrieking down the beach in terror.

 

He turned to Emma, that ridiculous cheeky expression on his face again. 

 

“Oh, were they cute too?” 

 

Emma smiled weakly at him, rolling her eyes as she tried to keep herself upright.

It felt like all the energy had drained from her body, her side throbbed.

 

“I just like monkeys, I told you,” she said. Killian’s face dropped into concern, barely getting to her in time to catch her before she fell into the sand. She leaned against him, warm and solid, smelling of sweat and sea water, and breathed him in, not caring for a moment if she should. 

 

“You were amazing,” Killian said softly, shifting to help her stand again, taking on more of her weight. 

 

“So were you,” she smiled up at him, a bit breathlessly, his blue eyes shining. He glanced briefly at her lips, his face flickering with indecision when the kids’ exuberant cries carried up along the beach.

 

“Emma!” 

 

“Killian!”

 

“Did you get it!”

 

“Did it work?” 

 

“That was so cool! They just ran away.” One of them made mocking monkey noises and they skidded to a halt in front of the adults. Emma reluctantly pulled away from the warmth of his arms, steadying herself as the kids crowded around. 

 

Killian shuffled to the side, awkward and unsure in the face of such an exuberant reunion, busying himself scanning for more guards. 

 

One by one they circled them, Roland's hands clutching her soaked dress, Grace and Henry bouncing around her excitedly.

 

“Did you get it?” Henry repeated, looking at him expectantly. Killian paused for a moment silent. Henry’s face fell a fraction before Killian withdrew the shining gold lamp from his coat, his face breaking into a grin. 

 

“‘Course I did. Was there ever any doubt?” Before he could say another word three yelling and cheering children were upon him, tackling him bodily to the ground.

 

“This again,” he grunted from the sand, the lamp held aloft, smiling up at them despite himself.

 

“You did it, you did it!” Killian laughed, gently batting the children away, rising awkwardly to his feet.

 

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Grace whispered to Emma, her eyes shining. The day was catching up to her Emma could see it on her face. Emma smiled. 

 

“You too, I was so worried,”’she looked at the three of them her heart swelling, threatening to burst. 

 

The rushed towards her, wrapping tiny arms around her waist, careful to avoid her burning ribs, Roland clutching at her leg. She pulled away slightly, looking down at them with a confused frown.  “How  _ did _ you guys get away, anyway?”

 

“The daggers!” Henry exclaimed. “We still had the daggers Killian gave us!”

 

“Roland hit one of them in the shin with the telescope,” Grace declared proudly. 

 

“I poked one of them in the leg,” Henry said. “And Grace hit her guy in the face with hers.” 

 

“I couldn't get it out of the thing,” the girl blushed. 

 

“You did great,” Emma said, resting a gentle hand on her head. She hugged them back to her again, three warm bodies filling her chest with something undefinable. When she opened her eyes Killian was grinning at her over their heads. 

 

“Where’s the ship?” Roland asked, looking behind them, searching for it. Emma’s face fell, and she looked to Killian, the delighted smile fading as he remembered. Her heart broke at the expression on his face, pure unadulterated anguish for a brief instant, his eyes shining in the sun. He looked away, his jaw clenching, a muscle fluttering in his cheek. 

 

“Killian,” she untangled herself from the kids, all of them deflating when they realized the implication. 

 

He turned back to her, his face stretched in an unnatural grin, his teeth straining his lips. His eyes were unnaturally wide, red rimmed and unable to completely hide his emotions. 

 

“I'm just glad you're alright,” he said finally after a moment, the sincerity outweighing everything else. 

 

“But your ship,” she said helplessly.

 

“Is just a ship,” he said firmly. 

 

“But it was your home,” she wanted to bury herself in the sand. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and let him weep against her neck. She wanted to press her hand along his brow, stroke down his jaw, and let him mourn. But he waved it off, turning away again, his back ramrod straight and tense, his eyes stuck hard on the sea.

 

“We should go,” he said finally, his voice steady but hoarse. “Before more of them come.” 

 

Emma let out a breath and nodded, wanting to cry. 

 

“Henry?” She looked at the boy. “The bean.”

 

Henry’s face fell further, his eyes going wide with fear.

 

“Henry?” She tried again. Dread filled her chest. 

 

“It was in my pants,” he motioned down to his borrowed clothes. “My pants were on the ship. I forgot it when I changed.” He looked like he might cry. “Killian told me to keep my dagger but I forgot about the bean.”

 

“Well we had more,” Emma said. “A whole bag.”

 

Henry sucked in a breath looking like he was going to cry. 

 

“I hid them in a trunk in the hold,” he whispered. Emma’s stomach sank. 

 

“We can't get back,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Without the beans we’re stuck here.”

 

“No. We’re not.” 

 

Killian reached into his pocket, pulling out a small black pouch, his finger probing inside it for a moment, and then he dropped it into the sand, holding up one shimmering clear bean between his fingers. 

 

“What? How?” Emma’s jaw dropped. 

 

“When I gave you the dagger,” he looked at Henry apologetically. “I took it from your pocket. Pirate.” He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed.

 

Henry patted his leg as if the bean should still be there, bewildered. 

 

“You had that the whole time?” Emma accused. His face morphed to shame and he nodded, casting his eyes down.

 

“Aye.” 

 

“You could have left all this time?” She said incredulous. “You didn't have to do any of this?” 

 

He looked up in shock at her words but Emma was already moving, crossing the beach in quick running strides, ignoring the pain in her back and her side to crash into him. He grunted on impact, his clenched fist going around her waist automatically to steady her, the flat of his hook at her hip as she grabbed into the thick leather lapels of his coat and yanked him into her space, pressing her lips to his.

 

He gasped into her mouth, shocked and frozen for a brief moment before he was kissing her back, his mouth hot, his arms clutching. She kissed him with all she had, everything that she had pushed below the surface, her fingers moving, snaking around his neck, tangling into damp hair, tongue teasing his bottom lip. He hoisted her up a bit, leaning her back, gathering her to him just as desperately, pressed together from chest to toes. A small moan into her mouth vibrated against her lips, tugged at a place behind her bellybutton, heat trailing down her spine, all that fear and adrenaline surging between them. 

 

“Gross,” Roland said from behind them. 

 

Emma broke the kiss off with a laugh, pressing her face, flushed red with embarrassment into his neck, shaking. 

 

“You could have gone home,” she whispered into his neck, mouth pressing up along his jaw, stubble rough on her lips as she spoke the words. His arms squeezed her tighter. 

 

“No. I couldn't,” he whispered back, his cheek pressing against her temple, closed fist moving to her hair. 

 

Emma pulled back, looking into his face, his blue eyes blown black, raw and open, barely rimmed in blue.

 

“Come with us,” she said softly. “Back to Storybrooke.”

 

“I don't have much of a choice,” he laughed nervously, leaning back to show her the single bean.

 

“ _ Stay _ with us,” she amended, her hand finally getting its chance to smooth along the plane of his jaw, all the sincerity in the world in her eyes. “All of us.” 

 

He swallowed, disbelieving, blinking away the shock, the lust in his eyes replaced with a spark of hope at her words. When he spoke again it was choked and strained with emotion.

 

“Aye.” 

 

_____

  
  


“Are we ready?” Emma looked at gathered children. All of them nodded with excitement, their faces dirt smudged and  exhausted, but happy. She smiled down at them, and looked behind her to the man still kneeling by the shoreline. She frowned, worried.

 

“Killian?” She motioned for the children to wait, and turned, walking down to join him. “Are you ready?”

 

“Aye, love.” He forced a smile, and stood up. She looked down to his hand, a wooden disc, roughly the size of a silver dollar flipped between his fingers. A piece of his ship. Several more bits of debris were coming in with the tide, left behind as the waves rolled back out to the sea. 

 

“Oh,” she breathed out. “Do you...need a minute? To say goodbye to her?” 

 

He shook his head, smiling sadly down at the sand.

 

“No,” he said, his voice hitched a bit and he gulped. He shoved the little disc into his pocket, sucking in a steadying breath. Emma reached out, awkwardly taking his hand in her own, lacing their fingers together.

 

“She was a beautiful ship,” she said.

 

“Aye. Best ship in all the realms,” he repeated his description from earlier, looking out over the water. 

 

“I'm so sorry Killian,” Emma whispered. 

 

“Don't be,” he cast the sad smile to her, his hand squeezing. “Come on, love.” He turned them, swinging their arms slightly as they began the journey back to the waiting children. 

 

“Let’s go home.” 

 

Her heart stuttered at the simple word, so much more now than it had been before.

 

“Okay.” She took out the bean, looking at the three eager faces, at the man beside her, and smiled as she tossed it onto the sand.

 

_____

 

The New Storybrooke Orphanage was the fastest building erected in the history of the state. Possibly the country, no one could be sure.  An anonymous donor swept in and closed the site on a Friday, construction cones and orange and white striped barricades keeping the town far away from grounds.

 

Permits miraculously were found in files no one had touched, drawn up, approved and signed in record time. An unknown construction crew had descended on the site and completed in days what would have taken weeks or months. It was a town wide miracle. One no one could seem to figure out. 

 

The town buzzed with the news, wondering who the mysterious donor could be, the only new face in town the dashing Professor Jones of postal service infamy, the name from so many odd little packages, here now in the flesh, the rumored long distance boyfriend of the reclusive Sheriff’s deputy, the boyfriend who now inhabited her house though no moving vans had ever been seen.

 

He certainly didn't look like any professor they had seen before, dark, brooding and favoring black leather. The timing of his arrival was suspect though, his financial status unknown, so assumptions were made, and Granny refused to take his money in the diner despite his bewildered protests.

 

The displaced orphans moved into the building on a Thursday, everything new and gleaming. There were mountains of presents on each of their beds, Christmas in July, new clothes in their bureaus, and a celebration in their honor. Mayor Mills cut the ribbon, still unsure how any of it had happened without her office knowing about it, but the paperwork was all in order and she was unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth. New orphanages were good for re-elections. 

 

All of the children returned to their brand new beautiful home, save three, who seemed to be placed in the temporary custody of the same reclusive Sheriff’s Deputy ridiculously easily, no questions asked. 

 

The little blue house with the tower, once so empty and lonely was suddenly filled with noise and life, with love and laughter and cuddles in the morning, scruff on her neck, and warm lips pressed against her hair. Emma Swan was almost as happy as she could ever be.

 

Almost.

 

Killian kept the little brown disc in his sock drawer, now filled with brand new socks. He looked at it every morning as he dressed, taking it out, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. Every morning she watched him, heart in her throat, apologetic kisses on his cheek, and every morning he closed the drawer, smiled at her, sometimes tugging her back into bed, and went about his day.

 

Until one day the little brown disc was missing, four mischievous pairs of eyes looking up at his inquiry at the breakfast table, eights pairs of hands in various sizes pushing and pulling him through the streets of town down to the harbor, one pair wrapped around his eyes.

 

A kiss pressed to his neck, a small hand tugged on his hook, and when the hands were taken away his ship greeted him, large as life, gleaming and new, bobbing in its brand new slip at the dock. No one in the town thought to wonder where it had come from. Mysteries were commonplace these days. 

 

Everyday Emma placed the same pair of calls. 

 

One to the social worker to update her on the status of the children. The other to a lawyer. 

 

Everyday she smiled at her three charges, her heart aching as the voices on the other end told her the same thing. 

 

Single. Unwed. Criminal record. Mysterious, foreign live-in boyfriend. 

 

“It doesn't look good Ms. Swan.”

 

“Three children of those ages is a lot of responsibility Ms. Swan.” 

 

“I've never seen such a thing approved before Ms. Swan.”

 

She had them send the applications anyway.

 

As she signed her name, the ink still wet she sprinkled a tiny bit of fine red sand into the black scrawl, blowing to make it dry, smiling as she handed the thick packet to gossipy Happy at the post office.

 

It was the fastest adoption proceedings in the history of the state. Possibly the country, no one could be sure. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such a blast writing this fun little fairytale. I wanted to both honor Phira's dream because I love and adore her and also play with a Bedknobs and Broomsticks esque story that didn't copy the original but took the concept: Three orphaned children on an adventure with a reclusive wanna be witch and the charlatan that sold her magic and put an OUAT spin on it. If you haven't watched the film I highly recommend it and you might see the nods to the story within. 
> 
> All my love and thanks to Liz (caprelloidea) who flailed and beta'd and made me feel like this was the greatest story in the world, and HUGE HEAPS OF LOVE to Phira. I hope you liked your present, you mean a lot to me and you've supported me since my very first little story in this fandom and it has always meant the world.


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